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MEUM  ET  TUUM. 


POEMS 


BY 

EUTH    ^TAJWE    CROMWELL. 


NEW    YOKE: 

Copyright,  1877,  by 

G.   W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers. 

LONDON  I     S.    LOW   &    CO. 
MDCCCLXXVII. 


THESE  POEMS  ARE  DEDICATED 

TO 
ALL  WHO  FIND  IN  THEM  THAT   "  TOUCH  OP  NATURE  " 

WHICH 

THE  GREAT  POET  HAS  DECLARED 
"MAKES    ALL     THE     WORLD     AKIN." 

ESPECIALLY, 
ARE  THEY  DEDICATED 

TO  THOSE, 
WHOSE  FRIENDSHIP  HAS  BEEN  MORE  TO  THE  AUTHOR 

THAN  ANY  REMUNERATION 
WHICH  LITERARY  EFFORT  CAN  CONFER. 

New  York,  1877.  R.  N.  C. 


938585 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

We  Fling  Down  Our  Hearts, 9 

The  Old  House  Clock, 10 

We  Parted  at  the  Ferry, 14 

He  Loves  Me,           .        .        .        .                .        .  15 

The  Beginning, 16 

The  End, 18 

What  is  False,  and  What  is  True,       .        .        .        .20 

The  Four-Leaved  Clover,         ,   t     .  22 

Heaven  holds  the  Sequel, 23 

Is  it  Real,  or  is  it  Seeming  ? 25 

The  Outcast's  Soliloquy, 26 

A  Reminiscence, 30 

The  Volume  is  Half  Ended, 33 

To  Edgar  A.  Poe, 34 

The  Ship, 36 

Judith's  Answer, 39 

Juliet's  Answer,            42 

Pauline,  After  the  Answer,  to  a  Third  Party,        .  43 

Lunacy,                ,        ,,,,,,,  46 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  Printers, 47 

The  Spires,           .        . 49 

The  Ride, 51 

To-Night, .52 

Moonlight  Love, 53 

Drinking  Song,            54 

Merrily  goes  the  Day, 55 

Sunset  Musings, 56 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  by,         .        .        .        .  61 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Castle  of  Air,         ....  63 

To  My  Husband,       .                       ....  66 

The  Accepted  Lover, 67 

No  God,  Do  You  say  ?......  68 

I  Don't  Care, 71 

Kiss  Me,  Love, 72 

Life's  Philosophy, 73 

Love  Me,  While  You  May,      ...        .        .  74 

What  Though  You  Have  Gold,           ....  75 

Our  Fiftieth  Anniversary, 76 

The  Faithless  Winds, 81 

Wanted, 82 

Through  China,  .        .        .  .        .        .83 

A  Ballad, 89 

An  October  Ramble, 92 

The  Dance  with  Death, 96 

Say  You  Like  Me, .98 

Land-ho, 99 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

Sunbeam  and  Shadow, 100 

In  Memoriam, 104 

The  last  Parting, 105 

By  the  Sea, 107 

Deacon  Halstead  on  the  New  Gospel,          .        .        .  109 

"  He  Suffered  Under  Pontius  Pilate,"     ...  Ill 

With  You,            113 

"Keep  Off  The  Grass," 116 

An  Ode  to  Tea, 117 

To  A  Portrait, 120 

Welcome, 121 

King  Death, 122 

Evolution, 123 

Bury  Me  Far  Away,         .        .        .        .        .        .  126 

The  Golden-Rod,          .......  127 

Reading  the  Tea-Cup, 129 

The  Fairy's  Gift,          .......  132 

Down  Broadway,     .        .        .        .        .        .        .  133 

Pass  On, .        .  135 

The  Rich  Man's  Burden,         .....  136 

Alone,           .........  139 

A  Rhyme,         ........  140 

Eveleen,  , 141 

Where  Art  Thou  ? 142 

The  Haunted  House,            .        .        .        .        .        .  143 

Sabbatarianism,       .......  145 

Evelyn  Clare, 147 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Hope  lies  Beneath  them  All,         •  .        .        .        .  149 

Tho  Devil's  Visit, 150 

Epigrams, 158' 

To  our  Cousins,  Over  the  Water,         ....  159 

Rally  for  Ireland,             160 

Alas,  for  the  Good  Old  Days, 162 

Raising  a  Regiment, 165 

The  Ring  of  the  Sutler's  Wife, 170 

The  Old  Flag, 171 

An  Appeal  to  President  Lincoln,         .        .        .        .173 

"  Move  On,  Men," 176 

The  Rebel  Ball,            178 

A  Tribute, 179 

Our  Union  and  Our  Flag,            180 

To  the  Tenth  Legion, 182 

The  Battle, 184 

The  Soldier  to  the  Civilian, 186 

Reading  the  Bulletin, 187 

The  Fall  of  Beaufort, 189 

A  Lament  from  Missouri. — Gen.  Lyon,      .        .        .  191 
Yankeedom  and  Dixie.     Tweedle-dum  and  Tweedle- 

dee,            192 

"I  have  been  to  Washington,"            ....  194 

The  Volunteer,         .......  196 

^obadil's  Dream,         »•'',.. 198 


POEMS 


RUTH    NATALIE    CROMWELL. 


WE    FLING     DOWN    OUR    HEARTS. 

TX7E   fling  down  our  hearts  to  hearts  that  are 

filled 

To  the  brim  with  the  joy  of  possessing ; 
We  throw   down   our  kisses   to   lips   that    have 

thrilled, 
Till  cloyed  with  the  sweets  of  caressing. 

We  lavish  our  treasures  of  beauty  and  mirth 
On  souls  that  are  sated  with  pleasure ; 

And  hoard  up  the  smiles  that  would  gladden  the 

earth, 
To  deal  them  by  stint  and  by  measure. 

We  keep  the  sweet  song  and  the  rarest  bon  mot 
For  the  cup  that  already  is  flowing  ; 

And  swim  with  the  tide,  till  not  one  of  us  know 
What  spirit  within  us  is  growing. 


-iq-         THE     OLD    HOUSE    CLOCK. 

We  take  up  our  garments  while  stepping  aside 
From  the  children  of  sin  and  of  sorrow  ; 

Forgetting  we  gather  a  dust  in  our  pride 

Which  shall  bear  us  through  Hades  to-morrow. 

We  drink  of  the  cup,  whate'er  it  may  be, 
That  accords  with  our  taste  and  our  station  ; 

And  dream  we  are  strong,  as  we  wisely  agree, 
In  resisting  our  neighbor's  temptation. 

We  arm  for  the  tumult,  exult  in  the  strife 
As  we  point  to  a  calm  that's  supernal ; 

We  falter  and  bend  'neath  the  burden  of  life 
With  our  gaze  on  a  day  that's  eternal. 


N 


THE     OLD    HOUSE    CLOCK. 

O,  girls  !  I  will  not  have  it  moved  ;  let  it  stand 
In  the  corner  where  he  put  it  on  our  marriage- 
day; 

All  these  new  things  are  fine,  no  doubt,  and  grand  ; 
I  find  no  fault,  but  let  the  old  clock  stay. 

On  our  marriage-day  !    Nigh  on  to  forty  years 
Have  passed  since  first  we  stood  by  this  old 
clock — 


THE     OLD    HOUSE    CLOCK.          n 

Husband  and  wife  ;  plenty  of  hope  we  had,  with 

no  fears 

To  trouble  it ;  love  and  hope,  that  was  our  only 
stock. 

Well,  he  has  gone,  and  most  things  have  a  differ- 
ent look ; 
The  house, — ah  !  the  new  wing  has  given  us  room 

to  spare. 
Those  trees  were  saplings  then,  but  now  they  hide 

the  brook, 

Except    when    winter    comes    and    strips    the 
branches 'bare. 

I  seem  to  see  it  all,  just  as  I  saw  it  then, 

As  arm  in  arm  we  left  the  church — the  flowers 

that  grew 

Upon  the  road,  the  roses,  June  roses,  in  the  glen, 
And  it  was  he  who  said,  "The  sky  had  never 
looked  so  blue." 

How  plain  it  all  comes  back  ;  the  pleasant  walk, 
And,  as  we   neared   the   house,   the   neighbors 

waiting  at  the  door, 
The  kindly  wishes  and  the  friendly  talk, 

The  table  where  the  feast  was  spread — I  see  it 
all  once  more. 


12          THE     OLD    HOUSE     CLOCK. 

And  so  we  started  on  our  way;  sometimes  the  road 

was  rough  ; 
I  did  not  mind, — why  should  I,  when  he  was 

by  my  side. 
And  if  our  means  were  small,  why,  for  our  needs 

there  was  enough, 

And  one  luxury  we  had,  'twas  our  comfort  and 
our  pride. 

'Twas  the  old  clock  ;  a  comfort,   yes  ;    steadfast 

and  true 
It  served  us  well,  year   in   and  out,  early  and 

late  ; 

And  when  the  hour  had  struck,  how  well  I  knew 
That   I   should  hear   the  well-known  step,  his 
footstep,  at  the  gate. 

Or  when  some  neighbor  came,   an  idle   hour  to 

spend, 
Or  to  lay  the  burden  down  which  made  our  own 

so  light ; 
Forgetting,  'till  the  old  clock,  like  some  faithful 

friend, 
Would  give  us  warning  of  Time's  rapid  flight. 

Sometimes  you  did  not  like  the  voice  that  called 
you  from  your  play, 


THE     OLD     HOUSE     CLOCK.         13 

« 
But  you  were  children,  then,  and  loved  what 

children  love. 
'Tis  not  so  long,  I  think,  yet  how  much  has  passed 

away, 

How  many  souls  have  gone  from  us,  to  join  the 
throng  above. 

Yes,  let  it  stand  !  there's  not  a  duty,  scarce  a  joy 

or  pain 
That's   crossed   or   filled   our   lives,  but   it  has 

borne  its  part ; 
It  almost   seems   as   if   'twere   muscle,  bone   and 

brain  ; 

As  if  that  wooden  frame  held  something  tender 
as  a  heart. 

Yes,  these  new  things  are  fine,  and  I  pray  your 

lives  may  never  lack 
The  simple  joys  which  brighten  youth's  short 

day; 
But  if  my  spirit  seeks  as  fair  a  past,  and  if  my 

thoughts  go  back 

To   humbler  joys,  you  need  not  wonder,  girls, 
89  let  the  old  clock  stay. 


i4     WE  PARTED   AT   THE  FERRY. 


WE    PARTED    AT     THE    FERRY. 

TTTE  parted  at  the  ferry, 

On  a  bright  and  gladsome  day, 
While  young  Time  with  snowy  blossoms 
Sprinkled  all  the  hills  of  May  ! 

Thrice  hath  the  earth  its  seasons 

Extended  into  years  ; 
Since  we  parted  at  the  ferry, 

In  silence  and  in  tears. 

Thrice  hath  the  earth  its  promise 
Renewed  to  wood  and  stream, 

Since  we  parted  at  the  ferry, 
With  love's  effulgent  dream. 

We  shall  part  at  the  ferry, 

Where  the  Stygian  waters  glide  ; 

No  loving  form  beside  us 

When  we  cross  the  narrow  tide  ! 

O,  Earth,  of  all  thy  memories 
When  Charon  guides  the  oar, 

How  much  shall  we  take  over 
To  the  everlasting  shore  ? 


HE    LOVES    ME.  .15 

O,  hearts,  whose  tender  flowers 

Were  reared  with  loving  care, 
How  many  bright  immortelles 

Will  you  find  garner'd  there  ? 


HE    LOVES    ME. 

D  Time,  sweet  Time,  pause  awhile,  I  pray  ; 
Let  no  waning  sun  go  down  upon  this  hap- 

P7  clay; 
Leave  the  purple  on  the  hill,  the  bloom  upon  the 

flower, 

Let  thy  finger  point  forever  to  this  golden  hour. 
For  he  loves  me — he  hath  said  it — 
For  my  heart  a  gift  hath  found  ; 
Oh  !  he  loves  me — he  hath  said  it — 
Let  there  be  no  light,  nor  sound, 
Save  with  love  and  beauty  crowned. 

Old  Time,  sweet  Time,  pause  awhile,  I  pray  ; 
Let  no  waning  sun  go  down  upon  this  happy  day  ; 
Take  the  shadow  from  thy  heart,  the  ruin  from 

thy  breast, 
Lay  thy  fluttering  wings  aside,  let  thy  soul  have 

rest — 


1 6  THE    BEGINNING. 

Chisel  it,  in  golden  sunbeams,  thro'  the  east  and 

west. 

For  he  loves  me — he  hath  said  it — 
For  my  heart  a  gift  hath  found  ; 
Oh  !  he  loves  me — he  hath  said  it — 
Let  there  be  no  light,  nor  sound, 
Save  with  love  and  beauty  crowned. 


THE    BEGINNING. 

1\/TATIN  songs  the  birds  are  singing, 

Vernal  flowers  strew  the  earth, 
New  delight  the  day  is  bringing, 

Happy  song  and  happy  mirth. 
Be  yon  sun  that  gilds  the  morning, 

In  the  east  or  in  the  west, 
Be  it  dark  or  be  it  dawning, 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  which  is  best  ? 

Best  of  all  the  joy  of  living, 
Sweet  the  present  as  the  past, 

Every  day  some  joy  is  giving, 
Still  the  brightest  is  the  last. 

Every  day  I  would  remember, 
Spring  or  summer  on  the  lea, 


THE    BEGINNING.  17 

April,  July,  or  December, 
All  alike  are  fair  to  me. 

I  shall  tread  a  fairy  measure, 

So  the  youths  and  maidens  say, 
Every  day  a  day  of  pleasure, 

All  the  future  blithe  and  gay. 
Birds  and  flowers  teach  me  duty, 

To  be  gay  is  to  be  wise, 
I  have  youth,  and  wealth,  and  beauty; 

They  shall  win  the  gifts  I  prize. 

Just  beyond  the  grassy  hollow, 

Lies  the  village  with  its  queen, 
But  they  say  all  eyes  do  follow 

When  I  walk  across  the  green. 
I  can  hear  the  sweet  birds  trilling, 

I  can  see  the  feathered  throng, 
But  not  long  will  they  be  filling 

All  our  meadows  with  their  song. 

Ere  their  little  day  is  ended, 

They  a  larger  life  shall  know, 
Other  tints  for  them  are  blended, 

Other  buds  and  blossoms  grow. 
Fairy  dells  and  fields  of  clover, 

Yours  the  sweets  that  never  cloy, 
2 


1 8  THE     END. 

Yet  ere  my  brief  youth  is  over, 
Let  me  taste  life's  fullest  joy. 

Eyes  shall  seek,  and  hearts  shall  love  me, 

Though  they  seek  and  sigh  in  vain  ; 
Not  a  soul  shall  move  above  me 

In  that  world  where  I  shall  reign. 
Haste,  O  Time,  thy  rapid  moving, 

While  upon  thy  wing  I  soar, 
Haste,  and  let  my  heart  be  proving 

All  the  bliss  thou  hast  in  store. 


THE    END. 

the  curtains,  Marie,  the  air  is  chilly, 
And  the  days  are  growing  short ; 
You  may  close  the  book  ;  the  tale  is  silly — 

A  young  girl's  dreams,  too  highly  wrought. 
And  yet, — you'll  scarce  believe  it,  Marie, — 

I  had  my  dreams,  as  vain  as  those, 
Only  their  memory  lives,  that  I  shall  carry 
For  a  brief  time,  and  then — the  close. 

Only  their  memory  !    Oh,  no  roses  mingle 
Their  odor  with  this  lingering  strain  ; 


THE     END.  19 

From  all  the  past,  no  moment  would  I  single, 
No  dream  that  has  been,  would  I  dream  again. 

And  yet  I  had  all  gifts  that  mortals  covet, 
A  beauty  that  no  art  could  save  ; 

How  frail  a  gift,  and  yet  all  hearts  do  love  it, 
Although  it  rarely  wins  what  most  we  crave. 

And  I  had  wealth,  an  Indus  never  failing, 

A  plenteous  stream,  that  fed  a  wayward  will ; 
But  when  the  heart — that  life  of  life — is  ailing, 

Then  there  are  gaps  no  money,  child,  can  fill. 
Culture  and  wit  were  added  to  my  dower, 

The  grooves  were  smooth  in  which  my  life  was 

run, 
But  all  in  vain  ;  not  beauty,  wealth,  nor  power 

Could  win  for  me  what  meaner  lives  have  won. 

The  heart  I  craved,  the  heart  that  never  sought  me, 

That   passed   me   by  with   neither   praise    nor 

blame, — 
Ah,  well !  I  married,  and  my  marriage  brought  me 

The  transient  glory  of  a  great  man's  name. 
It  matters,  little,  when  the  feast  is  ended, 

What  viands  were  before  us  spread  ; 
How  much  of  bitter  with  the  sweet  was  blended, 

Or  what  the  food  wTith  which  our  hearts  were 
fed. 


20  FALSE    AND     TRUE. 

Long  miles  away,  with  memory  to  endear  it, 

Stands  an  old  house,  old  for  many  a  day  ; 
The  village  lies  beyond,  the  churchyard  near  it, 

'Mid  friends  long  gone  ;  there  I,  at  last,  shall  lay. 
Good  men   there   are,  whose   hearts   are   upward 
reaching, 

Whose  lips  are  telling  of  some  happier  shore  ; 
It  may  be  so  ;  I'll  not  dispute  their  teaching  ; 

But  as  for  me,  ah  !  child,  I  dream  no  more. 


WHAT    IS    FALSE,     AND     WHAT    IS 
TRUE. 


more  beside  the  window,  you  and  I, 
The  sultry  west  is  all  aflame  ! 
The  clustering  roses  shine  the  same 
As  on  a  day  —  a  day  gone  by. 

Do  you  think  of  it  nowT,  the  summer  hour, 
When  the  king-bee  kissed  the  purple  flower, 

Its  honeyed  heart  to  win  ? 
Do  you  think  of  the  art  —  the  lover's  art  — 
That  kissed  the  folded  leaves  apart, 
The  crimson  leaves  around  my  heart, 

And  found  sweet  love  within  ? 
No  happier  hearts  'tween  earth  and  sky, 
Beside  the  open  window,  you  and  I. 


FALSE    AND     TRUE.  21 

O  well-a-day,  this  silent  room ! 

O,  love  that  lightly  flows 
From  lip  to  lip,  from  clime  to  clime 
Adown  the  golden  stream  of  time, 

That  lightly  comes,  that  lightly  goes  ! 
O  love  hath  lit  the  purple  gloom  ; 
O  love  hath  touched  with  rarer  bloom 
The  dim  old  shadows  of  this  room. 

Like  one  who -stands  beside  the  dead, 
When  the  rosy  charm  of  life  hath  fled  ; 
Still  bending  o'er  the  hallowed  shrine — 
Still  reaching  toward  a  link  divine — 
So  gaze  I  on  this  love  of  mine. 

0  with  a  bowed  and  reverend  head, 

1  lay  it  in  its  narrow  bed  ; 

I  kiss  the  brow  no  longer  bright, 
I  kiss  the  lips,  clay-cold  and  white  ; 
With  reverend  gaze  my  heart  hath  said 
Somewhat  there  is  which  is  not  dead. 

What  is  false,  and  what  is  true  ? 

Pale  traveler  to  the  silent  shore, 

Sing  you  the  song  you  sang  of  yore, 

"Love  is  love,  forever  more  ?  " 
Fade  out,  ye  clouds  of  rosy  hue, 
Die  out,  ye  dreams,  there's  an  infinite  blue  ; 

Another  sunrise  roofs  the  lea, 


22      THE    FOUR-LEAVED     CLOVER. 

Another  morn  shines  forth  for  me  ; 

Let  the  shrill  winds  blow  and  the  violets  die 

Let  the  fickle  love  of  a  day  go  by — 

Yet  till  my  heart  hath  ceased  to  sigh, 

We'll  not  say,  love,  I  nor  you, 

What  is  false  and  what  is  true. 


THE  FOUR-LEAVED  CLOVER. 

PROBABLY  every  human  heart  holds  among  childhood's 
reminiscences  the  search  for  the  four-leaved  clover,  which, 
when  found,  is  said  to  insure  to  its  possessor  the  grati- 
fication of  some  favorite  wish. 

T  ONG  years  ago,  a  happy  child, 

I  roamed  the  green  fields  over  ; 
Through  tangled  wood,  through  brake  and  wild, 
I  sought  the  four-leaved  clover. 

I  kissed  the  sleeping  flowers  that  lay 

High  on  their  grassy  pillow, 
And  stole  their  rosy  breath  away, 

Beneath  the  trailing  willow. 

I  wandered  on,  I  crossed  the  stream, 

I  roamed  the  green  fields  over  : 
Till,  where  the  pale-faced  lilies  dream, 

I  found  the  four-leaved  clover. 


HEA  YEN  HOLDS  THE  SEQ  UEL.     23 

Then  rose  a  wish,  pure  as  the  spring 

In  her  love-laden  bower  ; 
That  perished,  with  the  faithless  thing 

That  died  within  the  hour. 

Since  then,  ye  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
I've  roamed  this  bright  world  over  ; 

And  I  have  thrown  my  faith  away 
On  many  a  four-leaved  clover. 

Some  sober  truths  have  dulled  the  skies, 
That  shone  so  bright  at  morning  ; 

Some  bitter  tears. have  dimmed  the  eyes 
That  never  dreamed  of  scorning. 

So  have  I  learned,  despite  his  love, 

That  man  is  but  a  rover  ; 
What  though  he  swear  by  heaven  above, 

'Tis  nothing  more  than  clover. 


HEAVEN   HOLDS   THE   SEQUEL. 

T   ASK  not  why  the  roses  lie 

In  the  church-yards  of  to-morrow  ; 
I  ask  not  why  the  years  go  by, 
To  bring  but  toil  and  sorrow ; 


24    HEA  YEN  HOLDS  THE   SEQ  UEL. 

I  ask  not  why  a  soul  shall  wait 

Beneath  some  earthly  portal, 
Whose  soaring  thought  hath  reached  the  gate 

That  leads  to  the  Immortal. 

Let  life  be  rife  with  woe  and  strife, 

No  joy  my  joy  can  equal ; 
Old  time  may  close  the  Book  of  Life, 

But  Heaven  holds  the  sequel. 

I  ask  not  why,  with  hills  so  high 

He  bounds  our  earthly  vision  ; 
I  ask  not  why,  beyond  the  sky, 

We  wait  for  our  elysian. 
Nor  why  the  stones  before  me  lay, 

O'er  which  my  feet  are  falling  ; 
Nor  why  so  narrow  seems  the  way 

From  which  His  voice  is  calling. 

Let  life  be  rife  with  woe  and  strife, 

No  joy  my  joy  can  equal  ; 
Old  time  may  close  the  Book  of  Life, 

But  Heaven  holds  the  sequel. 

I  ask  not  why  Benardo's  sigh 

Within  my  breast  is  tossing  ; 
I  ask  not  why  between  us  lie 

The  waves  that  have  no  crossing  ; 


A9  IT  REAL  OR  IS  IT  SEEMING?    25 

Nor  why,  so  darkly  falls  my  night  ; 

Why  friend  from  friend  must  sever 
When  quenchless  glows  Thy  orb  of  light  ; 

Thy  stars  shine  on  forever. 

Let  life  be  rife  with  woe  and  strife, 

No  joy  my  joy  can  equal  ; 
For  He,  who  gave  the  Book  of  Life, 

Full  soon  shall  give  the  sequel. 


IS    IT    REAL,    OR    IS    IT    SEEMING? 

AMI  waking  ?  am  I  dreaming  ? 
•^^       Is  it  real  or  is  it  seeming  ? 
This.vague  harmonic  strife, 
Which  men  and  angels  christen  life  ? 
Where  are  the  golden  sunbeams  gone 
That  flooded  earth,  at  early  dawn  ? 
And  where,  my  God,  the  rosy  dreams 
Far  brighter  than  the  sunlit  beams 
That  thrilled  my  heart,  the  precious  dower 
Of  some  far-back  remembered  hour  ? 

Shadows  ! — shadows  !  every  where 
On  the  earth,  and  in  the  air 


26       THE    OUTCAST'S   SOLILOQUY. 

Brightest  dreams  become  at  last 
Bitterest  memories  of  the  past  ; 
So  we  strive  thro'  toil  and  sorrow 
For  the  boon,  that  dies  to-morrow — 
O,  forever  must  we  clasp 
Shadows — shadows  in  our  grasp  ? 
Am  I  waking  ?  am  I  dreaming  ? 
Is  it  real  or  is  it  seeming  ? 
This  vague,  harmonic,  endless  strife 
Which  men  and  angels  christen  life  ? 


THE    OUTCAST'S    SOLILOQUY. 

T  HAVE   made  my  bed,   and  I  don't  complain. 

What  if  I  did? 
Would  it  help  me  see  the  drift  of  a  thing  when 

the  meaning  is  hid  ? 
Said   a  rhyming  chap,    "  whatever   is,    is  Bright." 

Gad  !  no  wrong. 
I  think  if  he  stood  in  my  shoes,  he'd  be  singing  a 

different  song. 

I  have  made  my  bed,  have  I  ?     I  am  not  so  sure  of 

that. 
To  be  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  the  mouth,  and 

to  be  born  a  beggar's  brat, 


THE  OUTCAST'S  SOLILOQUY.       27 

That  is  the  way  the  world  puts  it,  and  there's  a 

difference  'tween  the  two; 
For  a  fair  start  in  the  battle  is  a  thing  that  helps 

you  through. 

To  be  sure,  I  might  have  bettered  my  lot ;  I  don't 

deny  that  fact, 
And  I  know,  as  well  as  another,  the  worth  of  an 

honest  act. 
To  do  the  thing  that  is  right — well,  maybe  I  have 

tried, 
But   it 's  hard  on  a  man,  to   be   always   rowing 

against  the  tide. 

Rowing  against  a  tide,  where  you  handle  the  oars 

alone, 
For  it's  rowing  against  the  flesh,  against  what's 

born  in  the  bone, 
Against  the  sins  of  the  parents  ;  bad  blood,  they 

say,  will  tell ; 
Am  I  to  blame  for  the  curse,  which  has  made  my 

life  such  a  hell  ? 

Am  I  to  blame  for  the  chance,  which  began  my 

days  in  crime  ? 
That  for  theft,  or  for  something  worse,  my  father 

is  serving  his  time  ? 


28       THE   OUTCASTS  SOLILOQUY. 

If,  instead  of  the  motherly  love  which  the  meanest 

on  earth  may  claim, 
I   have  known  but  the  kick  and  the   blow,  just 

Heaven,  am  I  to  blame  ? 

Over  the  plains  to  the  west,  through  the  trees 

which  stand  between, 
I  mark  the  house  of  the  squire,  with  its  sloping 

lawn  of  green  ; 
His  only  son  is  the  heir  of  more  acres  than  I  can 

see  ; 
It's  a  good  old  stock,  they  say,  and  he  is  all  that  a 

man  should  be. 

Is  it  any  merit,  I  wonder,  when  the  world  gives  all 

it  can, 
Its  love  and  care  to  the  boy,  its  wealth  and  praise 

to  the  man  ; 
Is  it  any  merit,  I  wonder,  with  a  stock  to  carry 

him  through, 
If  a  man  gives  back  to  the  world,  the  best  that  a 

man  can  do  ? 

If  I  were  the  son  of  the  squire,  with  wealth  and  an 

honest  name, 
And  he  were  a  waif  like  me,  born  and  bred  in 

shame, 


THE    OUTCASTS    SOLILOQUY.      29 

Would  I,  in  the  life  that  has  pass'd,  so  often  have 

missed  my  way  ? 
Would  he,  with  a  load  like  mine,  be  the  man  that 

he  is  to-day  ? 

Why  do  I  ask  ?  why  bother  my  brain,  with  riddles 

no  man  can  read, 
I  am  only  a  pauper  born  and  bred,  what  matters 

the  life  I  lead  ? 
I  am  going  my  gait,  and  I  know  the  end,  though  I 

carry  a  scornful  face, 
For  there's  many  a  man  who  frowns  on  me,  who 

goes  at  a  swifter  pace. 

But  low  as  I  am,  and  near  to  the  brink  as  my 

wavering  footsteps  stand, 
I  sometimes  long  for  a  friendly  word,  for  the  touch 

of  an  honest  hand  ; 
They  may  count  their  acres,  and  hug  their  gains, 

more  than  their  worth  would  I  stake, 
For  the  single  word  that  would  draw  me  back, 

with  a  hold  that  I  could  not  break. 

Pah  !  the  sun's  in  the  west,  I  will  follow  his  lead  ; 

how  he  brightens  the  meadow  and  hill ; 
I've  the  sky  for  a  roof,  the  earth  for  a  bed,  and 

the  world  to  roam  where  I  will; 


3o  A     REMINISCENCE. 

This  plant  at  my  feet,  hath  a  virtue  they  say, 
though  sorely  it  cumbers  the  ground, 

So,  even  in  me,  at  the  last  great  day,  some  morsel 
of  good  may  be  found. 


A  REMINISCENCE. 

T3OET,  I  have  read  thy  treasure, 
Musing  by  the  midnight  fire  ; 
Sighing  wind  and  heart  kept  measure 

To  the  cadence  of  thy  lyre. 
Wide  the  portals  of  thy  palace, 

Swung  upon  the  midnight  air  ; 
My  poor  heart  grown  old  and  callous, 

"Well  for  it  to  enter  there. ' 

Dingy  age  no  longer  frets  me, 

Dusty  years  have  rolled  aside  ; 
Time,  the  tyrant  foe,  forgets  me, 

Backward  falls  the  ebbing  tide. 
Many  a  stone  is  rolled  away, 

Many  a  grave  gives  up  its  dead  ; 
Spring  time  beckons  !  balmy  May 

Pelts  me  with  her  white  and  red. 


A     REMINISCENCE.  31 

Lo  !  a  hand  is  clasped  in  mine — 

Eagle  mating  with  the  dove — 
Softly,  how  her  fingers  twine, 

I  could  crush  them  with  my  love. 
O,  her  eyes  are  soft  and  tender, 

There's  no  sorrow,  gloom  nor  night  ; 
I  could  drink  their  noonday  splendor, 

Till  the  world  was  bathed  in  light. 


Have  I  known  her  years  agone  ? 

I  am  scarcely  in  my  prime, 
Yet  I  dream  this  flower  I've  worn 

In  my  heart,  thro'  leagues  of  time  ; 
O,  vain  heart  !  old  is  thy  story, 

Many  a  flower  is  folded  up  ; 
Heaven  and  earth  pours  all  that's  holy 

In  the  lover's  golden  cup. 

Summer  dies,  and  autumnjingers 

Like  a  wizard  at  his  spell  ; 
O'er  the  world  his  busy  fingers 

Weaves  a  magic  in  the  dell. 
But  the  leaves  grow  sere  and  yellow, 

Rustling  music  in  the  glade, 
Hastening  to  Love's  El  Dorado  ; 

I  can  smile  to  see  them  fade. 


32  A     REMINISCENCE. 

So  we  miss  not  leaf  nor  flower, 

Song  of  bird  nor  gilded  art ; 
Earth  hath  everywhere  a  bower, 

When  the  song  is  in  the  heart. 
Ah  !  there's  nothing  born  of  God, 

But  some  beauty  in  it  dwells 
To  the  man  who  walks  abroad 

Waiting  for  the  marriage  bells. 


Well  for  me,  the  night  winds  sighing  ; 

Well  for  me,  the  midnight  gloom  ; 
I,  who  lived  to  see  thee  lying 

Coffined  for  the  silent  tomb  ; 
Lived  !  oh,  no  !  for  life  is  more 

Than  a  vain  and  struggling  breath  ; 
Many  gifts  hath  it  in  store — 

I  asked  but  one,  and  this  was — Death, 

So  I  left  the  country  flowers, 

Rustic  wood  and  sylvan  glen, 
Youthful  joys  and  dreamy  hours, 

For  the  world  and  ways  of  men  ; 
And  it  may  be  that  my  soul 

Hath  some  stains  to  wash  away, 
Ere  I  meet  thee  at  the  goal, 

In  the  everlasting  day. 


THE    VOL  UME  IS  HALF  ENDED.   33 

But  no  more  !  the  morn  is  breaking 

In  the  East,  all  bright  and  red  ; 
And  the  busy  world  is  waking, 

Toilers  for  the  gift  of  bread. 
What  am  I,  that  God  should  hearken  ? 

Pain  and  joy  alike  are  brief ; 
What  am  I,  that  I  should  darken 

This  fair  day  with  one  vain  grief  ? 


THE  VOLUME  IS  HALF  ENDED. 


nnHE  volume  is  half  ended, 

The  laughter  and  the  jest  ; 
The  scenes  so  rarely  'blended, 
The  rest  and  the  unrest. 

The  book,  old  as  the  ages  — 
What  myriads  o'er  it  pore, 

What  hands  have  turned  its  pages, 
What  eyes  have  wept  its  lore. 

Bright  hopes-  at  the  beginning, 
The  brightest  soonest  lost  ; 

With  some  not  worth  the  winning 
When  I  count  the  bitter  cost. 


34  TO     EDGAR     A.     POE. 

Dark  clouds  whose  silver  lining 
Mine  eyes  may  not  yet  see  ; 

Lost  waves  which  no  repining 
Will  e'er  bring  back  to  me. 

Yet  life  is  not  all  sorrow, 
Our  idols  not  all  clay  ; 

Hope  may  fulfill  to-morrow 
The  promise  of  to-day. 

O,  hearts  that  mine  may  cherish- 
Let  frailer  dreams  go  by, 

All  lesser  hopes  may  perish, 
All  lesser  joys  may  die. 

If  hands  that  mine  are  grasping, 
If  steps  that  mine  attend  ; 

If  hearts  my  heart  is  clasping, 
Go  with  me  to  the  end. 


TO   EDGAR   A.    POE. 

T  KKEEL  to  thee, 

Dweller  in  God's  infinity. 
Where  doth  thy  planet  roll  ? 
From  what  celestial  pole 


TO    EDGAR    A.    POE.  35 

Doth  flash  thine  image  through  my  soul  ? 

Wanderer  amid  the  flowers 

Immortal  as  thine  art, 

What  hopes  do  sound  the  hours 

In  God's  eternal  bowers  ? 

What  dreams  become  a  part, 

Freighting  with  new-born  powers 

The  poet's  heart  ? 

On  earth  but  sorrow  crowned, 

What  treasure  hast  thou  found  ? 

What  miracle  of  light  and  sound  ? 

Poet,  and  Heaven  crowned, 

Do  angels  hear  thy  lyre  ? 

Doth  love  and  fond  desire 

Still  wake  the  living  fire  ? 

Or  was  some  brighter  hope, 

Not  born  within  the  scope 

Of  this  weak  breath — 

Some  paradisal  joy, 

Whose  sweets  may  never  cloy, 

Drank  with  thy  draught  of  death  ? 

All  joys  that  to  my  life  belong, 

Now  would  I  give  to  know  thy  song  ; 

For  by  these  shining  grains, 

By  thy  sweet  soul's  remains, 

I  swear,  'tis  sweeter  than  all  strains 

That  bard  of  Heaven  may  pour. 

Upon  my  heart  I  clasp  the  link 


36  THE    SHIP. 

That  tells  me  thou  hast  crossed  the  brink 
From  time  to  evermore  ; 
From  shades  of  night 
To  realms  of  light — 
To  joy  forever  more. 


THE   SHIP. 

[Probably  the  "Grandmother's  Ship,"—  that  panacea 
for  childhood's  griefs  is  among  the  reminiscences  of 
nearly  every  human  heart.] 


I  was  young,  a  winsome  child 
Of  some  four  years  or  more  — 
When  earth  was  fair,  as  the  face  that  smiled, 

That  bent  my  cradle  o'er  — 
"When  I  was  free  as  the  bird  and  bee 

That  flitted  across  my  path  — 
The  song  of  a  ship  on  the  wailing  sea, 
The  song  of  a  ship  that  sailed  for  me, 
My  childhood's  memory  hath. 

Oh  !  not  for  the  dip  of  the  broad  white  sail, 

Tho'  fair  as  a  world-  wide  lay, 
That  hath  rode  the  storm  and  weathered  the  gale 

For  many  a  toilsome  day  — 


THE     SHIP. 

Oh  !  not  for  the  form  that  weary  and  worn 

Hath  passed  to  its  cycle  of  rest — 
Doth  this  beautiful  song,  of  a  rosy  morn, 
A  grandame's  song  to  the  only  born, 
Seem  to  my  soul  the  best. 

Pandora's  box,  with  its  gems  of  fate, 

With  love  (surnamed)  divine, 
Gave  not  to  the  world  more  costly  freight 

Than  fills  this  ship  of  mine  ; 
Pandora's  seed  shall  bear  the  weed 

As  long  as  the  flowerets  blow, 
But  she  carries  a  flower  for  every  need, 
A  chalice  of  hope  for  hearts  that  bleed, 

A  balm  for  every  woe. 


The  skies  are  bright  where  a  homestead  stood, 

The  flowers  divinely  fair, 
A  thousand  birds  are  in  the  wood, 

But  I  am  a  stranger  there  ; 
From  the  peaceful  past  a  life  is  cast 

'Mid  the  glitter  of  noise  and  din 
To  wait  on  the  shore,  for  I  am  the  last, 
The  only  one,  to  watch  for  the  mast 

Of  a  ship  that  comes  not  in. 

Ye  sailors,  who  roam  the  fathomless  deep, 
Where  the  lonely  waters  roll, 


37 


38  THE    SHIP. 

Where   the  ice-king  reigns,  where   the  flowerets 

sleep, 

From  the  North  to  the  far  South  Pole ; 
No  dazzling  lure,  but  a  bark  so  sure 

Ne'er  rode  the  pitiless  sea — 
Should  you  meet  with  a  flag  that  is  stainless  and 

pure. 

A  beautiful  flag,  that  shall  ever  endure, 
That  ship  belongs  to  me  ! 

Oh,  waft  her  in  !  for  the  shadows  of  earth 

Are  closing  around  my  heart, 
And  faith,  the  star  that  lighted  my  birth, 

No  hope  to  the  soul  can  impart ; 
Ye  winds  that  blow,  ye  waves  that  flow 

Wherever  her  flag  may  roam  ! 
All  things  above,  all  things  below, 
My  soul  is  sick  with  a  deathless  woe — 

Ah,  waft  the  good  ship  home  ! 

'Tis  not  for  the  dip  of  the  broad  white  sail, 

Tho'  fair  as  a  world  wide  lay  ; 
'Tis  not  for  the  face,  so  rapt  and  pale, 

Which  long  hath  passed  away  ; 
But  she  steereth  aright  in  the  darkest  night, 

A  joy  to  the  tempest  driven  : 
You  will  know  her  at  once  if  she  heave  in  sight, — 


JUDITH'S    ANSWER.  39 

From  her  topmost  mast  is  a  luminous  light 
That  points  the  path  to  Heaven ! 


JUDITH'S  ANSWER. 

"VT^OIJ  have  asked  me  do  I  love  you, 
Will  I  give  heart,  soul  and  life, 
Holding  there  are  none  above  you, 

Will  I  be  your  all — your  wife. 
And  I  answer,  can  you  show  me, 

Of  myself  the  simplest  part ; 
Tell  me  truly,  do  you  know  me, 

Know  one  fibre  of  my  heart  ? 

No  tender  soul  forever  twining 

Around  some  sturdier  soul  am  I, 
No  simple  girl  for  true  love  pining, 

Who  missing  this,  will  fade  and  die. 
Thoughts  and  feelings  I  may  mingle 

Smiles  with  smiles,  and  tears  with  tears  ; 
But  hearts  and  souls  like  mine  are  single 

Moving  in  their  separate  spheres. 

Every  day  the  world  progressing 
Adds  new  treasures  to  its  store, 


40  JUDITH'*  S    ANSWER. 

He  who  kneels  his  love  confessing 
In  my  ears  such  tale  doth  pour, 

He  must  stand  'mid  souls  unbending 
Where  the  hottest  shot  is  hurled, 

Favoring  none,  the  truth  defending, 
Never  must  his  flag  be  furled. 

He  who  asks  my  soul  to  love  him, 

In  his  life  my  ideal  see, 
Holding  there  are  none  above  him, 

He  must  prove  it  true  to  me. 
Ah,  dear  love,  your  eyes  are  saying 

Words  that  mine  are  quick  to  read, 
And  my  lips,  the  truth  obeying, 

Render  you  a  righteous  meed. 

Well  I  know  your  hopes  are  centered 

On  the  height  which  great  men  dare, 
And  I  know  your  feet  have  entered 

On  the  path  that's  leading  there. 
From  that  path  some  feet  are  turning, 

Age.  sometimes  belies  its  youth, 
Souls  have  lost  their  haughty  yearning, 

Lips  once  true,  have  mocked  the  truth. 

Yet  the  while  your  soul  aspiring 
To  that  point  for  which  I  live, 


JUDITHS    ANSWER.  41 

Though  it  meet  not  your  requiring, 
Much,  dear  love,  my  heart  can  give  ; 

It  can  give  the  fullest  measure 
Of  the  meed  that's  due  to-day, 

Counting  it  a  joy,  a  pleasure, 
At  your  feet,  so  much  to  lay. 

We  may  find  a  different  reading 

In  the  themes  that  stir  the  soul, 
Many  pathways,  oft  are  leading 

To  the  same  absorbing  goal  ; 
If  we  two  should  walk  asunder, 

In  some  path,  where  thought  may  flow, 
Could  you  bear  the  gaping  wonder, 

Which  the  world  is  quick  to  show  ? 

Granted  this,  by  all  that's  royal 

In  your  thought,  and  in  your  life, 
I  can  be  both  fond  and  loyal, 

To  the  man  who  calls  me  wife. 
Speak  not  now,  ah  !  pause,  I  pray  you, 

Much  the  strongest  heart  must  stake  ! 
Let  no  fatal  love  betray  you, 

Question  well  the  step  you  take. 


42  JULIET'S    ANSWER. 


JULIET'S  ANSWER 

IT  OYE  you  !     O,  my  love,  has  life  a  day 

When  I  did  not  ?  has  my  heart 
A  single  joy  ?  tell  me,  pray, 

In  which  you  have  not  borne  a  part  ? 
Ere  I  knew  you,  I've  no  memory  of  those  years. 

What  is  there  that  I  could  name  ? 
Highest  hopes,  and  bitterest  fears. 

Grew  to  nothing  when  you  came. 

Tell  me,  in  what  language  do  they  speak  ? 

Who  Love's  fervor  would  lay  bare. 
Love  is  strong,  and  words  are  weak, 

Love  is  love,  and  words  are  air. 
Love  you  !  could  my  soul  the  measure  pour, 

Earth  nor  ocean,  star  nor  sun, 
Scarce  would  hold  the  precious  store  $ 

All  have  limits,  love  hath  none. 

Joy  or  sorrow,  plaint  or  cheer, 

Vainly  earth  puts  forth  for  me  ; 
Ever  'tis  your  voice  I  hear, 

Ever  'tis  your  face  I  see. 


AFTER     THE    ANSWER.  43 

Will  I  be  your  loving  wife  ? 

You,  who  taught  me  all  the  bliss, 
All  that's  glorified  my  life, 

Scarcely  need  to  ask  me  this. 


PAULINE,  AFTER  THE  ANSWER,  TO  A 
THIRD  PARTY. 

TTE  has  spoken  at  last — no  doubt  you  can  guess 
What    the  answer  would  be — of  course,  it 

was  yes. 
What  of  Charley  ?    That  was  nothing — a  flirtation, 

you  know. 
Splendid?     Oh  yes,  just  the  sort  for  a  beau. 

He  is  coming  this  morning, — Mr.  Frump,  I  mean, 
To  speak  to  papa — I  must  not  be  seen. 
To  all  visitors,  Andrew  is  ordered  to  say, — 
'Tis  the  right  thing  to  do, — that  I  am  out  for  the 
day. 

Two  millions,  so  papa  says,  a  respectable  sum ; 
How  late  it  is  growing  !  I  wish  he  would  come. 
Of  what  it  consists  ?     Well,  I'm  not  certain  quite, 
City  lots,  I  believe,  and  stocks — papa  says  it's  all 
right. 


44  AFTER     THE    ANSWER. 

How  the  girls  will  all  talk — see,  he  took  my  gold 

ring, 

That's  for  a  measure.     To-morrow  he'll  bring 
A  diamond — he  knows  I  cannot  endure 
A  small  stone,  'twill  be  large,  I  am  sure. 

Frump !     Not  a  name  I  would  choose — Mrs.  Frump, 
Ah,  we  cannot  have  all  the  nice  things  in  a  lump. 
Lennox  is  better,  heigho  !  why  should  I  care  ? 
Charley  has  nothing  ;  we  couldn't  live  upon  air. 

I  never  could  quote,  but  something  like  this,  I  have 

read, 

Bother  !  how  these  saws  slip  out  of  one's  head. 
'Tis  some  talk  of  the  money  that  covers  up  sins, 
And  here  is  another — he  laughs  loudest  who  wins. 

Thank  fortune,  mamma  has  made  up  her  mind, 
To  have  my  trousseau  imported.     This  stops  every 

kind 
Of  bother  and  fuss.     Did  you  see  Jenny  Morrison's 

veil  ? 
Nothing  but  tulle  ;  mine  will  be  pointe,  and  oh  ! 

what  a  trail — 

Only  half  a  yard  long,  I've  heard  the  girls  say. 
To-night  Charley  and  I  were  to  go  to  the  play. 


AFTER     THE    ANSWER.  45 

Of  course  I  have  written,  but  he'll  not  think  it 

true, 
A  forgotten  engagement, — but  what  could  I  do  ? 

What  a  bother  it  is,  this  belonging  to  one, 

How  it  stops  all  the  pleasure,  and  spoils  all  the 

fun! 
Well,  I  wish  he  would  come;  if  there's  one  thing  I 

hate 
More  than  another,  it's  a  man  that  is  late. 

We  shall  be   married  at  Grace — I  prefer  it,  you 

see, 

On  account  of  the  chimes — of  course  he'll  agree. 
And  if  mamma  should  not  think  it  too  soon 
For  crossing  the  ocean,  the  month  will  be  June. 

Frump — Mrs.  Frump — what  a  horrible  name, 
Would  he  change  it,  I  wonder?    No  one   could 

blame. 

Well,  it's  not  likely — he  is  set  in  his  ways, 
Mrs.  Frump  I  shall  be,  to  the  end  of  my  days. 

But  I  shall  see  Paris,  there'll  be  no  end 
Of  money,  you  know.     I'll  have  plenty  to  spend. 
How  nice  it  will  be,  to  talk  of  Venice  and  Rome, 
Of  cathedrals  and  pictures,  in    our  evenings  "  at 
home." 


46  LUNACY. 

I  wonder  if  Charley  will  answer  my  note — if  he'll 

care ! 
Good  gracious  !     There's    the  bell.     Yes,   he   is 

there  ! 
Mr.  Frump  and  the  carriage.     Where  is  Andrew  ? 

Would  you  call  ? 
Ah  !  there  is  papa-— I  hear  his  step  in  the  hall. 


LUNACY. 

A  LONE  on  the  ground,  in  the  purple  night, 
•^^          Beneath  a  luminous  sky, 
Where  the  flowers  are  red  and  the  stars  are  bright, 

Slumber  the  moon  and  I  ; 
She  meets  me  there,  in  her  robes  of  white — 

The  moon,  so  cold  and  shy. 

She  lies  by  my  side,  a  beautiful  bride, 

The  moon,  that  lives  in  the  sky  : 

She  leaveth  the  stars,  her  state  and  her  pride, 
Her  isled  home  on  high, 

When  the  day  is  done,  at  the  set  of  sun, 
To  give  me  sigh  for  sigh. 

They  say  her  beauty  hath  turned  my  brain — 
The  moon,  that  lives  in  the  sky  ; 


TO    PRINTERS.  47 

That  her  heart  is  vain,  and  her  love  will  wane 
When  the  drifting  winds  come  nigh. 

Accursed  and  cold,  they  know  but  their  gold — 
I  silently  pass  them  by. 

In  her  silver  robe  she  travels  the  globe, 

For  she  hath  a  dazzling  eye  ; 
She  knoweth  the  wave  where  the  mermaids  lave, 

And  the  glittering  treasures  lie. 
But  treasure  and  sea- she  leaveth  for  me  ; 

And  when  my  body  shall  die, 
I  will  pass  away  from  the  dismal  day, 

To  the  moon  that  lives  in  the  sky. 


TO   PRINTERS. 

TVTOW  flesh  is  heir  to  many  ills, 
And  I  am  quite  resign'd, 
Whatever  God  or  nature  wills 

To  take  with  quiet  mind  ; 
And  yet  my  heart  is  sick  and  sore, 

I've  found  without  a  doubt 
The  drop  that  runs  the  goblet  o'er 

Which  poets  talk  about. 


48  TO    PRINTERS. 

"Tis  said  that  every  living  soul 

Hath  some  black  cat  or  other, 
Where  e're  you  go,  from  pole  to  pole 

Some  skeleton  to  bother  ; 
I  cannot  tell  another's  woe, 

Another's  grief  divine, 
.1  only  know  of  all  below 

A  printer  sure  is  mine. 

Now,  if  you  have  the  hearts  of  men, 

What  e'er  your  name  or  clime, 
Libel  no  more  a  poet's  pen, 

0  spare  a  poet's  rhyme  ; 
When,  'neath  the  cover  of  a  song, 

1  fling  my  love  a  rose, 

What  misery  !  what  hideous  wrong, 
To  make  my  gift  a  nose. 

Or  when  I'd  have  kind  Nature  waft 

O'er  one  her  gentlest  breeze; 
What  hocus-pocus  has  your  craft 

That  turns  it  to  a  sneeze  ? 
Or  when  indeed  some  woe  enlists 

My  muse  to  drop  a  tear, 
'Tis  then,  your  happiness  consists 

In  making  it  a  sneer. 


THE    SPIRES 


49 


Or  when  some  witty  thing  I  say, 

Why  my  best  word  disjoint  ? 
Why  manage  it  in  such  a  way 

As  just  to  lose  the  point  ? 
I've  heard  you're  jolly  "  on  a  strike," 

That  line  is  all  your  own  ; 
Strike  when  you  please,  and  where  you  like, 

But  let  my  line  alone. 

Let  Shakespeare  rave  about  his  bones, 

What  boots  a  dead  man's  curse  ? 
A  living  poet's  daily  groans 

Is  surely  something  worse  ; 
Ah  !  Fate,  thou  wer't  not  so  unkind 

As  once  was  my  belief  ; 
That  made  the  poet  Milton,  blind, 

And  spared  him  greater  grief. 


THE   SPIRES. 

T  SIT  by  the  window,  my  love, 

Where  the  sauntering  crowds  go  by, 
Above,  around,  forever, 

The  shadow  of  city  and  sky. 
3 


50  THE    SPIRES. 

Ye  spires  that  point  to  Heaven, 
Fair  guides  to  the  happier  shore, 

Where  lieth  the  mystical  Aiden, 
The  crowd  that  hath  gone  before  ! 

Ring  out,  sweet  Sabbath  chimes, 
Some  tale  of  the  marvellous  land, 

That  shall  thrill  like  the  lips  we  have  lost, 
Like  the  touch  of  a  well-known  hand  ! 

Fond  hearts  that  were  weary  and  worn, 
Eyes,  that  were  heavy  with  tears, 

Have  ye  bathed  in  the  Lethean  wave  ? 
Is  there  rest  in  the  beautiful  spheres  ? 

Are  your  roses  unringed  with  a  thorn  ? 

Are  your  skies  ever  cloudless  and  fair  ? 
Are  the  joys  that  illumine  your  path 

Unshadowed  by  sorrow  and  care  ? 

No  dream,  of  a  face  that  is  not  ? 

No  thought,  of  a  day  that  is  passed  ! 
Are  the  doubts  that  have  clouded  your  morn 

Made  clear  to  the  vision  at  last  ? 

Ring  out,  sweet  Sabbath  chimes, 
Some  tale  of  the  marvellous  land, 


THE    RIDE.  51 

That  shall  thrill,  like  the  lips  we  have  lost, 
Like  the  touch  of  a  well-known  hand. 


I  sit  by  the  window,  my  love, 

Where  the  sauntering  crowds  go  by ; 

But  the  chimes  are  mute,  as  the  lips  we  have 

lov'd, 
And  the  spires  but  point  to  the  sky. 


THE   RIDE. 

morning  dew  is  on  the  grass 
A  heaven  is  in  the  sky  ; 
Sweet  April  courtesies  while  we  pass — 

My  bonny  steed  and  I. 
I  heed  her  not,  the  blue-eyed  maid 

That  lifts  my  flowing  hair, 
Who  flings  her  kisses  in  the  glade — 
Her  sweetness  on  the  air. 

There's  a  quiet  house  on  yonder  hill, 
A  grassy  slope  with  flowers  between, 

Just  at  the  turn  where  the  romping  rill 
Juts  out  across  the  green  ; 


52  TO-NIGHT. 

There's  a  maid  that  can  as  gaily  trip, 
With  step  as  light  and  free, 

Who  wears  a  sweetness  on  her  lip, 
And  keeps  it  all  for  me. 

The  morning  dew  is  on  the  grass, 

A  heaven  is  in  the  sky  ; 
O  many  a  lad  this  wood  may  pass, 

But  none  so  blithe  as  I. 
Sing  out,  ye  birds,  and  fill  the  air, 

A  song  for  every  mate  ; 
And  I've  a  love  beyond  compare, 

A-waiting  at  the  gate. 


TO-NIGHT. 

,  to-night  a  phantom  show 
Of  whirling  memories,  to  and  fro, 
Pallid  ghosts  that  long  have  lain 
Buried,  in  my  heart  and  brain, 
Flit,  from  out  their  hiding  places, 
With  their  long-forgotten  faces, 
Clasp  my  hand.,  and  kiss  my  brow, 
God,  I  know  them,  faithless  now, 
Eyes  so  black,  and  eyes  so  blue, 
Gome  ye  here,  my  soul  to  woo  ? 


MOONLIGHT    LOVE.  53 

Thrill  my  heart  with  one  more  glance, 
Tread  with  me  one  mazy  dance, 
While  within  your  arms  I  whirl, 
Happy-hearted,  laughing  girl. 

To-night,  to-night,  I  reel  and  swim 
Back,  thro'  the  past,  and  kiss  the  brim 
Of  many  an  hour,  whose  golden  flow 
Made  bright  my  world  of  long  ago. 
To-night,  to-night,  my  thirsty  soul 
Drinks  deeply  from  the  flowing  bowl 
The  fragrant  draughts  I've  drank  before, 
The  rosy-tinted  streams  of  yore. 


MOONLIGHT  LOVE. 

TT  was  born  of  the  moonlight,  a  perishing  gleam  ; 

What   wonder,   my   love,   that   'twas   only  a 

dream — 

A  vanishing  dream — a  beautiful  part 
Of  the  infinite  love  that  lives  in  the  heart. 

It  was  born  of  the  moonlight,  a  delicate  ray  ; 
What  wonder,  my  love,  that  it  faded  away, 
'Mid  the  glitter  and  glare  of  a  wearisome  life 
Of  innermost  passion  and  outward  strife. 


54  DRINKING    SONG. 

Sweet  as  the  scent  of  a  delicate  flower, 
'Twas  the  fragrant  birth  of  an  indolent  hour  ; 
It  lived,  and  it  died,  oh  !  say  not  in  vain, 
While  linked  with  a  smile,  and  unmixed  with  a 
pain. 


DRINKING    SONG. 

T^ROIVI  the  rosy-lidded  past, 

Sweet,  we'll  draw  the  cover ; 
Drink — the  streams  are  flowing  fast — 

Drink  to  friend  and  lover. 
Shining  draughts  to  friends  of  youth, 

Wheresoe'er  they  wander ; 
Every  heart  whose  proven  truth 

Made  our  own  grow  fonder. 

Here's  a  health  to  lips  and  eyes, 

Drink  the  dream  that's  over, 
Kisses  mingle  with  our  sighs — 

Health  to  every  rover. 
With  the  hand  upon  the  heart, 

Drink  to  loves  that  sever ; 
Time's  a  fip  to  those  who  part 

Pledged  to  love  forever. 


MERRILY    GOES     THE    DAY.       55 

From  the  rosy-lidded  past, 

Sweet,  we'll  draw  the  cover ; 
Drink — the  streams  are  flowing  fast — 

Drink  to  friend  and  lover. 
Life  is  but  a  rosy  draught, 

Drink — the  stream  is  glowing  ; 
Drink — a  thousand  joys  are  quaffed 

While  the  tide  is  flowing. 


MERRILY  GOES  THE  DAY. 

1V/TERRILY,  merrily  goes  the  day, 

*•  Laughing  maidens  wind  their  tresses, 
Mingling  with  the  flowers  of  May, 

Rosy  love's  caresses  ; 
Laughing  eyes  of  sweet  sixteen, 

Hazel  deep  with  violet  hues ; 
Ah !  the  youth  who  walks  between 

Scarcely  knoweth  which  to  choose. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  day, 
Happy  manhood  wins  the  goal ; 

For  the  noon-tide  thought  doth  sway 
The  waves  that  fret  and  roll ; 

On  the  shore  of  golden  hours 
Where  the  giddy-hearted  lave, 


56  SUNSET    MUSINGS. 

Time  is  wafting  sweetest  flowers 
From  the  ever-ebbing  wave. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  day, 

'Mid  the  hammer's  ringing  stroke, 
Where  the  sun  with  lurid  ray 

Shines  amid  the  drifts  of  smoke ; 
'Mid  the  rush  of  hurrying  feet, 

And  the  whirl  of  human  joys ; 
How  we  love  the  dim  old  street 

And  the  crash,  and  noise. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  day, 

Roses  bloom,  and  thistles  rise, 
While  we  journey  on  our  way 

Onward,  upward  to  the  skies  ; 
Whatsoe'er  the  hour  may  bring, 

Morning,  noon,  or  twilight  gray. 
Still  some  happy  heart  will  sing 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  day. 


SUNSET   MUSINGS. 

that  sweet  eve — I  was  alone 
Where  Nature's  happiest  mood  had  thrown 
O'er  hill  and  dale — above — below — 


SUNSET    MUSINGS.  57 

The  essence  of  all  life  we  know — 

A  living  landscape,  fair  and  warm, 

With  all  the  glow  of  mortal  form, 

When  love  hath  made  that  form  more  bright 

Beneath  its  deep  impassioned  light ; 

And  given  to  the  eye  ancl  face 

The  glory  of  its  light  and  grace. 

And  there  the  soft  clouds  floated  by, 

Like  rosy  dream  or  parting  sigh, 

Upon  the  air,  whose  crimson  hue, 

Caught  from  the  sun,  in  beauty  grew 

'Till  rushed  rock  and  mountain  side, 

OO  7 

Towering  aloft  like  human  pride, 
A  moment  shone,  lit  by  that  ray, 
As  something  more  than  rock  and  clay. 
From  stately  trees  broad  shadows  fell, 
The  phantom  guardians  of  the  dell ; 
And  glancing  footsteps  on  the  grass, 
Heard  by  the  spirit,  seemed  to  pass 
And  linger  'mid  those  leafy  bowers, 
A  thought  among  the  thoughtless  flowers. 
The  merry  leaves,  stirred  by  the  air, 
Sighed  to  the  voice  that  whispered  there 
A  tuneful  note  as  soft  and  sweet 
As  moves  the  lip  when  lovers  meet ; 
The  trembling  lips  that  would  impart 
The  deeper  tone  that  thrills  the  heart. 
Still  on  the  air  a  clearer  note, 


58  SUNSET    MUSINGS. 

The  song  of  young  birds  seemed  to  float 
A  mingled  wave  of  joy  and  mirth, 
A  sea  of  song  above  the  earth. 

At  my  feet,  thro'  mead  and  dale. 
On,  thro'  many  a  winding  vale, 
Flowed  the  brook,  a  dancing  measure, 
Like  a  life  of  joy  and  pleasure. 
Many  a  pebble,  worn  and  old, 
Glittered  like  the  shining  gold, 
Many  a  flower  upon  its  bank, 
Newer  life  and  verdure  drank. 
Long  I  watched  the  varied  scene, 
Dancing  brook  and  changing  green, 
Now  so  bright,  and  now  so  dim, 
To  iny  soul  a  lofty  hymn, 
Where  all  thoughts,  like  rock  and  tree, 
Were  blent  to  one  vast  harmony. 

I  know  the  sun,  a  lover  bold, 

That  woos  and  wins  and  groweth  cold, 

A  gem  of  fire  upon  his  breast 

That  shines  o'er  all  the  glowing  west. 

I  watched  him  there  and  saw  him  woo 

Many  a  cloud  of  tender  blue, 

Saw  the  rosy  flush  that  came, 

Marked  his  fickle  heart  of  flame, 


SUNSET    MUSINGS.  59 

Passing  on  with  careless  eye 
From  the  fading  cloud  and  sky, 
And  I  thought  of  many  a  heart 
That  beholds  its  dream  depart 
Where  no  other  sun  shall  dawn, 
Where  no  second  love  is  born, 
But  forever  cold  and  gray 
Walks  alone — a  twilight  way. 

And  I  know  the  zephyr's  home, 
Tho'  o'er  land  and  sea  she  roam, 
Springing  from  the  heart  of  June, 
There  she  learned  her  sweetest  tune ; 
Flying  from  her  dewy  lip 
Sweeter  is  the  breath  we  sip  ; 
Softer  are  her  soft  caresses 
As  her  lip  the  flower  presses, 
Growing  brighter  'neath  the  bliss 
Wafted  from  the  zephyr's  kiss  ; 
But,  alas  !  she  flies  the  plain, 
Bud  and  blossom  sigh  in  vain  ; 
Drooping  'neath  a  warmer  breath, 
Soon  they  languish  into  death. 
Then  I  thought  of  hearts  that  yearn, 
Tones  that  never  shall  return, 
And  it  sadly  dawned  on  me 
Life  were  better  to  be  free 


60  SUNSET    MUSINGS. 

From  the  joy  that  love  can  bring, 
Love  that  knows  no  second  spring. 

Sitting  in  my  fairy  nook, 
Still  I  gazed  upon  the  brook, 
Not  a  zephyr  fanned  my  brow, 
Not  a  song  to  cheer  me  now, 
Every  bird  had  sought  its  nest, 
Every  flower  had  sunk  to  rest, 
Deeper  shadows  thronged  around, 
Twilight  fell  without  a  sound, 
All  was  quiet  save  the  song 
Of  the  brook  that  flowed  along, 
Now  an  echo,  lone  and  dreary, 
Of  a  memory  cherished  dearly  ; 
Faded  like  the  dreams  of  youth, 
Trusting  friendship,  love  and  truth, 
But  there  comes  a  deeper  sorrow, 
That  for  them  shall  dawn  no  morrow, 
Tho'  the  heart  be  often  stirred 
By  remembered  tone  or  word, 
Yet  it  falls  an  echo  only, 
Like  the  brook  that  flows  so  lonely. 


JESUS     OF     NAZARETH.  61 


JESUS   OF  NAZARETH    PASSETH  BY. 

r\  PALESTINE,  how  calm  thy  skies, 

Dread  silence  broods  o'er  hill  and  plain  ; 
But  in  my  soul  what  thoughts  arise, 

What  memories  stir  my  heart  and  brain. 
I  see  thee  not  as  thou  art  now, 

But  as  thou  wert  on  that  fair  day, 
The  noon-tide  glory  on  thy  brow, 

The  triumph  that  outlasts  decay  ; 

I  see  the  throng — I  hear  the  cry, 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 

Once  more  thy  pastures  teem  with  flocks, 
On  desolate  hills  the  vineyards  grow, 

Green  verdure  clothes  thy  barren  rocks 
From  plain  to  Lebanon's  heights  of  snow, 

They  breathe  again — thy  chosen  few, 

While  echoing  through  each  wood  and  glen, 

The  song  whose  worth  they  scarcely  knew, 
The  grandest  theme  that's  sung  to  men, 
The  glorious  song — the  deathless  cry, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 

Fair  Judah's  sun  pours  down  its  rays 

On  walled  cities  old  and  vast, 
Temples  and  turrets  meet  my  gaze, 

The  royal  splendor  of  the  past. 


62  JESUS    OF     NAZARETH. 

To  far-off  ports  the  great  ships  glide, 

And  labor  lifts  its  tireless  hand, 
And  Israel's  kings  to  battle  ride, 

And  life  and  tumult  fill  the  land  ; 

Above  it  all  I  hear  the  cry, 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 

O  Jericho,  proud  city  of  the  plains, 

I  see  what  favored  souls  have  seen ; 
Thy  fields  where  generous  plenty  reigns, 

Thy  palms  and  olive  groves  of  dusky  green. 
Jerusalem — from  feasts  and  sports,  from  joys 
and  cares, 

From  regal  show  my  rapt  gaze  turns 
'Mid  golden  domes,  'mid  courts  and  squares  ; 

Thy  altars  blaze — thy  incense  burns, 

And  still  I  hear  the  solemn  cry, 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 

His  feet  doth  tread  these   sacred  courts, 
From  Zion's  height,  his  glance  still  falls, 

O  tombs,  O  citadels,  O  forts — 

O  sculptured  towers,  O  marble  walls, 

O  pity,  for  the  hapless  fate, 

That  makes  you  cold  to  joy  like  this. 

O,  harder  hearts,  and  blinder  hate, 
Pity  for  all,  'tis  yours  to  miss, 
Ears  that  are  deaf  to  that  great  cry, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 


QUEEN    OF     THE     CASTLE.         63 

Fair  Palestine,  the  dream  hath  fled, 
Thy  sun  hath  set — but  not  in  night, 

Its  track  o'er  all  the  world  hath  shed 
A  gleam  of  Heaven's  refulgent  light, 

I  stand  'mid  ruins,  of  ruins  born, 

With  shades  of  shadows  o'er  me  cast — - 

O  land  bereft  of  thy  fair  morn, 
One  blessed  ray  survives  the  past, 
Adown  the  years  hath  come  the  cry, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 


I  AM   QUEEN   OF   THE  CASTLE  OF   AIR. 

you  ask  if  I  own  in  this  beautiful  land, 
From  Maine  to  the  tropical  line, 
Some  acre  of  earth,  some  fibre  or  strand, 
That  is  sacred  to  me,  and  to  mine  ? 

0  listen,  Mignon,  I  have  treasures  untold, 
A  kingdom,  surpassingly  fair, 

1  scorn  your  bright  coffers  of  silver  and  gold, 
I  am  queen  of  the  Castle  of  Air. 

My  palace  is  roofed  with  the  rainbow's  hue, 
And  gemmed  with  the  rainbow's  light. 

Let  it  fade  if  it  will,  in  the  fathomless  blue, 
I  can  build  me  another  as  bright. 


64         QUEEN    OF     THE     CASTLE. 

Old  Time,  who  is  stealing  the  light  from  your  eyes, 
And  snatching  the  bloom  from  your  hair, 

He  travels  not  under  these  opulent  skies, 
Where  standeth  my  Castle  of  Air. 

I  have  steeds  that  are  fleeter,  and  more  to  my 

mind, 

Than  your  fiorses  of  mettle  and  worth, 
From   the  north   to  the   south,  outstripping    the 

wind, 
They  bring  me  the  treasures  of  earth. 

I  have  terrace,  and  lawn,  and  garden  and  plain, 
Whose  vineyards  with  mine  may  compare, 

What  nectar  so  sweet,  as  the  nectar  I  drain, 
Matured  in  my  Castle  of  Air? 

I  have  tapestried  rooms,  where  I  wander  at  will, 

O'er  floors  where  a  prodigal  loom 
Has  scattered  its  roses  with  marvelous  skill, 

Choice  flowers  of  beauty  and  bloom. 

I  have  divans  and  couches,  which  lure  to  repose, 
When  my  heart  is  oer  shadowed  with  care. 

Quaint  windows,  whose  colors  out-rival  the  rose, 
Embellish  my  Castle  of  Air. 

I  have  jewels  too  rare,  for  the  mine  or  the  mart, 
I  have  dishes  of  silver  and  gold, 


QUEEN    OF     THE     CASTLE.         65 

I  have  statues  and  gems — chefs-d'oeuvre  of  art, 
Whose  value  can  never  be  told. 

I  have  epics,  more  grand  than  your  loftiest  rhyme, 

And  melodies  tuneful  and  rare, 
I  have  pictures  more  perfect,  than  any  in  time, 

Adorning  my  Castle  of  Air. 

Here  I  dream  of  a  day,  when  brotherly  love, 
Shall  prevail  at  the  altar  and  hearth, 

While  the  symbols  of  peace,  the  olive  and  dove. 
Grow  in  favor  all  over  the  earth. 

Here  I  dream  of  a  day,  when  the  ensign  of  war, 

His  standard  no  longer  shall  bear, 
When  He'll  dwell  in  our  midst,  the  God  we  adore, 

As  he  dwells  in  my  Castle  of  Air. 

Then  enter  all  ye,  who  are  weary  and  worn, 
Wide-swung  are  my  portals  for  you, 

Here  is  balm  for  the  weak,  new  life  for  the  lorn, 
And  hope  for  the  heart  that  is  true. 

The  world  is -an  ambush  of  turmoil  and  strife, 
But  there's  rest  in  this  time-honored  chair, 

He's  a  friend  to  my  soul,  through  the  mazes  of  life, 
Who  has  entered  my  Castle  of  Air. 


66  TO    MY    HUSBAND. 


TO    MY    HUSBAND. 

TT^IYE  years  old  when  I  was  born — 

Was  there  no  wind  that  blew, 
No  gossiping  breeze  abroad  that  morn, 

To  murmur  the  song  to  you  ? 
Where  were  the  birds  and  the  wild  bees  gone, 

Could  they  not  see  nor  hear  ? 
Not  a  neighborly  stream  to  watch  for  the  dawn 

To  ripple  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

No  sign,  no  glimpse  in  the  morning  light, 

No  hint  in  the  bobolink's  call ; 
No  vigilant  sunbeam  there  to  write 

A  telegram  on  the  wall. 
Out  with  the  roses  red  and  white, 

Down  in  the  grassy  dell, 
When  the  four  leaved  clovers  met  your  sight, 

Had  they  no  news  to  tell  ? 

No  sign  to  give,  no  word  to  say, 

To  a  lad  so  blithe  and  free, 
Of  the  baby  girl,  whose  bark  that  day 

Was  launched  on  a  perilous  sea. 
Ah,  gossiping  breeze  that  passed  that  wTay, 

You'll  talk  'till  the  stars  grow  dim, 
Yet  never  could  tell  of  the  gift  that  lay 

In  July's  lap  for  him. 


THE    ACCEPTED    LOVER.  67 

Birds  and  bees  and  blossoms  are  dead 

That  haunted  the  wood  that  morn, 
The  garrulous  breeze  hath  long  since  fled, 

The  stream  to  the  river  hath  gone. 
No  word  they  said,  but  we  were  wed, 

And  the  years  roll  over  the  land, 
And  Fate,  who  still  is  spinning  her  thread, 

Works  on  with  a  tireless  hand. 


THE  ACCEPTED  LOVER 
I. 

A  SK  you,  why  my  eyes  are  bright, 
•^-     FilPd  with  love's  divinest  mirth  ? 
Ask  you,  why  my  step  is  light, 

With  the  joy  that  scorns  the  earth? — 
Can  you  tell  ?  can  you  guess  ? 
Rosy-lipped,  the  gentle  Allie, 
Allie  hath  said  "  Yes." 

II. 

Tender  sky,  and  air-blue  stream, 

Scent  of  flower,  and  song  of  bird, 
Poet's  life  and  lover's  dream, 
Mingled  in  one  little  word  ;  — 

Can  you  tell  ?  can  you  guess  ? 
Dimple-cheeked,  the  dainty  Allie, 
Allie  hath  said  "Yes." 


68         NO     GOD,     DO     YOU    SAY? 

III. 

The  roses  blushed,  the  lilies  bowed, 

The  daisies  peeped  from  out  the  ground. 
The  sweet  moon  heard,  she  left  the  cloud 
To  trace  in  light  the  silver  sound  ;  — 
Can  you  tell  ?  can  you  guess  ? 
Golden-tressed,  the  fairy  Allie, 
Allie  hath  said  "Yes." 

IV. 

Though  no  other  joy  I  own, 

Though  in  gloom  my  sun  shall  set : 
Though  my  hopes  like  leaves  are  strewn, 
Never  shall  my  soul  forget ;  — 
Can  you  tell  ?  can  you  guess  ? 
That  dear  Allie,  noble  Allie, 
Allie  hath  said  "Yes." 


NO    GOD,   DO   YOU   SAY? 

ATO  God  !     Come  out  to  the  romping  rill, 

Through  the  meadows,  and  over  the  hill, 
The  fields  are  aglow,  we  will  take  the  way 
That  leads  to  the  woods — No  God,  do  you  say  ? 

Under  these  trees,  the  gentians  bloom, 
Where  is  the  hand,  and  where  is  the  loom, 


NO     GOD,     DO     YOU    SAY?          69 

That  can  weave  a  robe  as  sweet  and  fair, 

As  the  blue  fringed  robe,  which  the  gentians  wear  ? 

Here  is  the  daisy,  tear  it  apart, 
This  golden  disk,  is  the  daisy's  heart, 
An  hundred  florets  drink  the  light, 
To  keep  the  heart  of  a  daisy  bright. 

Florets  so  fine,  that  the  falling  rain, 
Would  rend  the  golden  walls  in  twain. 
Who  taught  the  flower,  day  after  day, 
To  guard  these  walls  ?    No. God,  do  you  say? 

Who  taught  these  leaves,  which  the  lovers  know, 
These  leaves  as  white,  as  the  pure  white  snow, 
O'er  the  tender  floret,  to  bend  and  close, 
When  the  storm  comes  down,  and  the  fierce  wind 
blows  ? 

You  can  see  the  lilies,  from  where  you  stand, 
Each  dot  a  stamp  of  the  Master's  hand, 
Where  else  the  power,  that  from  this  mold, 
Could  weave  that  bloom  of  brown  and  gold  ? 

Here  at  your  side,  with  its  delicate  hue, 
The  snap-dragon  tells  the  tale  to  you, 
In  meadow  and  field,  both  far  and  near, 
It  speaks  to  all  who  have  need  to  hear, 


70          NO     GOD,     DO     YOU    SAY? 

These  yellow  walls  have  been  the  tomb, 
Of  many  a  prisoner,  caught  by  the  bloom, 
That  lies  beneath  the  tight-closed  lip, 
A  terror  to  all,  who  dare  to  sip. 

Open  the  prison-house,  and  now,  let  go, 
Unloose  your  clasp,  what  skill  can  show, 
Such  quick  rebound,  a  simple  thing, 
Yet  where  the  joint,  and  where  the  spring  ? 

Go  search  the  world,  find  if  you  can, 
'Mid  all  the  handicraft  of  man, 
Some  cunning  lock,  some  trap  or  net, 
Where  hinge,  nor  joint,  nor  seam  are  set. 

This  wondrous  bloom,  this  glorious  yield 
In  wood  and  dale,  in  meadow  and  field, 
Is  an  humble  part  of  the  wealth  that  lies 
Beneath  these  fair  and  beauteous  skies. 

Yet  the  simplest  growth  that  decks  this  soil, 
No  skill  can  match,  no  hope,  no  toil 
Can  give  the  warmth  of  the  tints  that  blow, 
Or  weave  the  lines  that  a  leaf  can  show. 

Can  chance,  if  such  a  thing  there  be, 
Which  cannot  think,  nor  feel,  nor  see, 
Can  chance  bring  forth  what  here  you  trace — 
Method  and  order,  rank  and  place  ? 


I    DON^T    CARE.  71 

When  the  earth  no  more  from  its  teeming  breast 
Such  bloom  shall  give,  when  in  the  west 
Yon  sun  shall  rise,  when  on  this  plain, 
December  with  July  shall  reign — 

When  riot  lives,  and  order  dies, 

When  the  moon  no  more  shall  sink  nor  rise, 

When  the  earth  is  but  a  barren  clod, 

I  too,  may  say,  there  is  no  God. 


I  DON'T  CARE. 

~T~  ET  the  world  wag  as  it  will, 
•i~  Be  it  good,  or  be  it  ill, 
Let  the  nations  rail  and  kill, 
Let  the  rich  their  coffers  fill, 
Let  the  world  wag  as  it  will, 
I  don't  care. 


Let  Dame  Fortune  on  me  frown, 
Topple  all  my  castles  down, 
Let  no  rose  my  planting  crown, 
Let  my  hopes  grow  sere  and  brown ; 
Let  Dame  Fortune  on  me  frown, 
I  don't  care. 


72  XSSS     ME,     LOVE. 

Many  a  fool  that  I  could  name 
Wears  a  wreath,  and  calls  it  fame ; 
Many  a  knave,  with  no  more  claim, 
Counts  by  tricks  and  wins  the  game ; 
Like  the  fools  that  I  could  name. 
I  don't  care. 

Let  the  world  go  as  it  may 
'Till  old  Father  Time  is  gray, 
Or  if  some  frisky  comet's  play 
Send  it  where — I  may  not  say ; 
Let  the  world  go  as  it  may. 
I  don't  care. 


KISS  ME,  LOVE. 

"17""  ISS  me,  love,  kiss  me  kindly, 

Kiss  me  in  the  morning  hour, 

O  7 

When  my  soul  devoutly,  blindly, 
Bends  before  thy  lordly  power — 
Thou  the  sun,  and  I  the  flower. 

Kiss  me,  love,  kiss  me  ever, 

'Till  I  dream  no  dream  but  this, 


LIFE'S    PHILOSOPHY.  73 

'Till  the  world  on  golden  lever 
All  its  minutes  steeped  in  bliss 
Turns  upon  a  rosy  kiss. 


LIFE'S  PHILOSOPHY. 

T  IFE'S  a  round  of  merry  hours  ; 
•^  Tell  us  not  of  evening  shade, 
Filled  to  flowing  with  sweet  flowers, 

What  care  we  how  soon  they  fade. 
Let  us  weave  our  wreath  with  roses 

While  the  red  leaves  last, 
Ere  the  noon-tide  blossom  closes, 

Ere  the  day  be  past. 

Life's  a  stream  which  all  are  crossing, 

Teach  to  us  its  lore, 
Better  die  where  waves  are  tosssing 

Than  sleep  upon  the  shore. 
Let  us  freight  our  bark  with  pleasure, 

Though  the  rude  winds  play, 
.Love's  sweet  breath  shall  waft  the  treasure 

O'er  the  trackless  way. 

Life's  a  gift  which  fond  hearts  cherish, 
Sweet  the  joy  it  gives, 


74     LOVE    ME    WHILE     YOU   MAY. 

Tell  us  not  of  dreams  that  perish, 
Folly  dies,  and  wisdom  lives. 

Soon  each  bark  shall  touch  the  portal 
Of  the  promised  sphere, 

Where  our  joy  shall  be  immortal 
As  the  lips  that  kiss  us  here. 


LOVE  ME,  WHILE  YOU  MAY. 

T  OYE  me,  love  me,  while  you  may, 
-^     Take  the  love  that's  thine  to-day, 

Plead  not  for  to-morrow. 
Life  is  full  of  saddest  ills, 
If  a  joy  thy  bosom  thrills 

Cloud  it  not  with  sorrow. 

Shall  my  lips  refuse  thy  kiss, 
Though  its  deep  and  thrilling  bliss 

Fade  the  moment  after  ? 
Time  may  change  our  smiles  to  tears, 
Crush  our  hopes,  and  wake  our  fears, 

Sorrow  ends  in  laughter. 

Then  take  the  love  that's  mine  to  give, 
I  know  not  if  it  may  outlive 

The  rainbow's  fleeting  splendor. 


THOUGH     YOU    HAVE    GOLD.      75 

But  well  I  know  this  heart  is  warm, 
As  any  quick  to  meet  the  storm, 
And  full  as  soft  and  tender. 

But  if  our  dream  should  fade  away, 
We'll  hold  it  like  an  April  day, 

Its  glory  still  remember ; 
And  ne'er  be  weak  enough  to  sigh, 
As  oft  we  pass  each  other  by, 

For  roses  in  December. 


WHAT  THOUGH  YOU  HAVE  GOLD. 

TITTHAT  though  you  have  gold,  I've  a  heart  that 

is  free ; 

Gold's  not  the  metal,  fair  lady,  for  me  ; 
Save  the  amber  that  lies, 
Half  blinding  my  eyes, 
On  the  rare,  tinted  curl 
Of  some  rosy-cheeked  girl 

Who  crosses  my  day,  with  the  freshness  of  morn, 
Gives  life  to  my  life,  as  the  dew  to  the  dawn. 

With  an  eye  that  looks  up,  with  an  arm  that  is 

sure, 
With  a  heart  that  is  strong,  and  a  soul  to  endure, 


76        FIFTIETH     ANN  I VERSAR  Y. 

No  Esau  am  I, 

My  rights  to  deny  ; 

I've  no  heart  to  be  sold, 

Though  your  pottage  be  goM  ; 
I  see  not  the  charms  which  another  may  see  ; 
Gold's  not  the  metal,  fair  lady,  for  me. 


OUR    FIFTIETH    ANNIVERSARY. 

"TTiRAW  nearer,  Nancy,  give  me  your  hand, 
good  wife, 

Praise  God,  who  has  given  us  these  years  of  wed- 
ded life  ; 

These  fifty  years — praise  Him  for  all  the  good 
we've  had  ; 

We  are  too  much  given  to  complain,  to  dwell  upon 
the  bad. 

We  have  had  our  troubles,  Nancy,  and  some  were 

hard  to  bear, 
But  the  world  is  full  of  sunshine,  and  we  have  had 

our  share  ; 
And  when  a  man  has  reached  his  three-score  years 

and  ten, 
Things  look  a  little   clearer  than   they  look  to 

younger  men. 


FIFTIE  TH     ANN  I VERSAR  Y.         7  7 

I  have  heard  it  said,  and  we  have  seen  some  wit- 
ness of  its  truth. 

That  when  a  man  gets  on  in  years,  his  thoughts  go 
back  to  youth ; 

With  the  labor  done — the  harvest  won,  and  the 
better  world  in  view, 

It  seems  to  me  such  looking  back  is  an  idle  thing 
to  do. 

But  on  this  day,  no  backward  glance  would  be  to 
have  no  thought 

Of  all  the  joys — the  tender  joys,  these  fifty  years 
have  brought  ; 

I'm  slow  of  speech — not  given  to  talk,  but  some- 
thing I  would  say, 

Here,  by  your  side,  with  your  hand  in  mine,  as  I 
held  it  on  that  day. 

I  have  been  prosperous,  Nancy, — there's  no  better 

farm  than  ours ; 
In  storm  and  drouth  He  hath  blessed  us,  in  sunshine 

and  in  showers  ; 
Our  land  is  all  productive ;  we  may  travel  east  or 

west, 
No  finer  crops  are  grown— our  cattle  are  the  best. 

I've  kept  my  promise,  Nancy,  the  day  I  claimed 
your  hand, 


78        FIFTIETH     ANNIVERSARY. 

I  said,  my  wife  shall  have  the  best  that  money  can 

command. 
But  better  than  the  money's  worth,  I've  kept  my 

record  clear, 
No  man  can  say  a  stain  doth  rest  upon  my  labors 

here. 

But  in  this  hour,  placed  side  by  side,  how  small 

appears  my  part ; 
Helped   and   sustained  through  fifty  years   by  a 

loving  hand  and  heart ; 
For  all  the  good  that's  in  me — for  the  faith  that's 

best  of  all, 
I  know  not  how  to  speak  my  thanks,  words  come 

not  at  my  call. 

'Tis  true  I  saw  some  holy  path — a  light  I  called 

divine  ; 
And  I  was  hard  on  men  who  saw  a  different  light 

from  mine ; 
It  took  me  thirty  years  to  learn — to  know — and 

lift  my  eyes — 
That  nearer  to  our  fellow-man,  is  nearer  to  the 

skies. 

But  I  must  hasten,  wife,  for  the  time  is  going  fast; 
This  roof  will  ring  with  merry  shouts  before  an 
hour  is  past ; 


FIFTIETH     ANNIVERSARY.         79 

For  Mary  and   her   husband,   and   the  children — 

every  one, 
Will  soon  be  here,  and  claim  your  ear,  before  my 

talk  is  done.      , 

The   train   that's   due   at   'leven    will    bring    our 

youngest  boy, 
Our   Richard,   with   his  wife   and   son — we,   too, 

might  sing  for  joy  ; 

For  from  the  west,  three  hundred  miles  away, 
Comes  John  with  all  his  family,  to  celebrate  our 

day. 

There's  Kate  and  Sue,  their  children,  and  their 

children's  children,  too, 
So  helpful  we  might  fold  our  hands — they  leave  us 

naught  to  do ; 
And  our  neighbors — all  are  coming — from  twenty 

miles,  I'm  told, 
Our  steps  are  brisk,  our  hearts  are  warm — we'll 

forget  that  we  are  old. 

Ah  !  wife,  I  see  the  shadow !  So  well  your  face  I 

read, 
But   sometimes — and   God's   ways    are    best — the 

truest  hearts  must  bleed. 
The  children  he  hath  taken — there  is  comfort  for 

our  pain, 


8o         FIFTIETH     ANNIVERSARY. 

We  shall  know  them,  as  we  knew  them — would  we 
have  them  back  again  ? 

With   all   the   promised   splendor,  we   shall  have 

what  most  we  prize, 
And  human   hearts  are  tender,  and  they  ask  for 

human  ties. 
Not  given  in  marriage  !  'tis  true,  but  wife,  I  have 

no  fear, 
Some  union  there  will  be,  for  the  hearts  united  here. 

'Twas  fifty  years  ago,  with  a  young  man's  hope 

and  pride, 
I  placed  this  ring  upon  your  finger — the  heart  my 

only  guide ; 
With  an  old  man's  deeper  reverence — a  dearer, 

purer  bond, 
I  place  this  one  above  it,  with  the  hope  that  looks 

beyond. 

For  the  love  that's  never  failed  me,  for  the  tender- 
ness and  care, 

For  the  patience,  and  the  sweetness  that's  made 
our  life  so  fair, 

I  thank  you,  wife — but  see !  the  hour  is  up,  my 
claim  is  o'er, 

Ah  !  Nancy,  dry  your  eyes,  the  wagon's  at  the 
door. 


THE    FAITHLESS     WINDS.         81 


THE   FAITHLESS  WINDS. 


'T^HE  faithless  winds  are  out  to-night, 

The  fickle,  faithless  crew, 
With  hearts  so  cold,  and  lips  so  white, 

They  peer  the  casement  through  ; 
Laugh  on,  oh  !  ye  who  have  no  fears, 

But  speak  no  word  to  me  ; 
High  o'er  the  winds  my  spirit  hears 

The  wailing  of  the  sea. 

The  boisterous  winds  are  out  to-night, 

The  moon  has  hid,  the  clouds  are  black, 
The  coast  is  clear — no  ship's  in  sight 

But  the  treacherous  waves  are  on  their  track ; 
Oh  !  take  the  gifts  yon  heaven  sends, 

But  give  no  thought  to  me  ; 
My  heart  is  far  away,  my  friends, 

With  the  sailor  on  the  sea. 

The  cruel  winds  are  out  to-night 

They  scent  the  angry  wave, 
A  raging  sea — Oh  !  God  of  Might — 

Each  wave — a  sailor's  grave. 
Away,  why  heed  my  changing  cheek? 

Why  take  ye  thought  of  me  ? 
6 


82  WANTED. 


What  idle  words  my  lips  may  speak? 
I'm  dreaming  of  the  sea. 


WANTED. 

TT7 ANTED — a  haunted  house, — no  sham  if  you 
please, 

No  myth  of  a  crazy  brain  ; 
But  a  haunted  house — some  lonely  spot 

Where  the  dead  come  forth  again  ; 
Where  familiar  footsteps  haunt  the  night, 

And  familiar  voices  call, 
While  some  dreary  tale,  of  a  dreary  past, 

Hangs  over  it  like  a  pall ;  — 

Where  the  doors  fly  open  before  your  eyes 

In  the  light  of  the  sunniest  day  ; 
Where  the  blood-stains  linger  upon  the  floor 

That  shall  never  be  washed  away ; 
With  some  blue-beard  room,  within  its  walls, 

Where  the  storied  ghost  is  met ; 
O  you,  who  heed  a  poet's  prayer, 

Have  you  such  a  house  to  let  ? 

Where  the  purple  light  hath  a  mystical  gloom, 
That  awes  the  bravest  heart, 


THROUGH    CHINA.  83 

And  the  breeze  that  fans  the  loftiest  brow, 

Can  make  the  pulses  start, 
Where  the  soul  is  like  some  trembling  lyre 

Played  on  by  a  viewless  hand, 
Where  sights,  and  sounds,  and  phantom  scenes 

Shall  shame,  the  mightiest  wand. 

Is  money  your  God  ?     Oh  !  name  your  price, 

Tho'  humble  your  roof  may  be  ; 
Its  mouldy  walls,  and  hingeless  doors 

Shall  prove  the  world  to  me. 
A  thousand  pounds  of  glittering  gold 

Shall  leave  me  still  in  your  debt ; 
In  city  or  dale,  in  village  or  vale, 

Who  has  such  a  house  to  let  ? 


THROUGH  CHINA. 

T  WANDERED  blithe  and  gay 
Twice  five  thousand  miles  away, 

Where  ceaseless  flow 
The  yellow  waves  of  the  Hoangho  ; 

'Neath  Eastern  skies, 

Where  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  the  Pelings  rise, 
Where  the  camphor  trees  their  branches  spread, 
Where  the  tropic  blooms  their  fragrance  shed, 
Where  the  tea-plant  grows  ;  in  its  native  bower 


84  THROUGH    CHINA. 

I  kissed  the  leaves  of  the  fair  white  flower ; 
While  I  wandered  blithe  and  gay, 
Twice  five  thousand  miles  away. 

I  saw  the  gates  massive  and  high, 
The  solid  gates  that  pierced  the  sky  ; 
I  stood  beside  the  famous  wall, 
And  saw  the  dismal  shadows  fall, 
As  once  they  fell  on  the  Tartar  foe 
Just  two  thousand  years  ago. 

Many  a  city  I  passed  through 

Where  Confucius  breathed  ;  my  breath  I  drew, 

The  low  carved  roofs  dawned  on  my  sight. 

The  gilded  windows  large  and  bright, 

Triumphal  arches  green  and  white, 

The  doors  of  aromatic  wood, 

Where  many  a  portly  mandarin  stood, 

The  temples  where  the  genii  brood  ; 

Many  a  city  I  passed  through 

Where  all  was  new 
From  palace  walls,  inlaid  with  gold, 
From  fretted  shrines  all  worn  and  old, 
From  the  yellow  flag  like  a  sunlit  cloud 
That  waved  above  the  motley  crowd, 
From  the  clumsy  junks,  and  the  sailor  crew ; 

All  was  new 
Down  to  the  sailor's  cue. 


THROUGH    CHINA.  85 

I  saw  the  Emperor  and  his  train, 
I  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  again ; 
A  vanguard  just  one  thousand  told, 
Some  with  hoops  and  staves  of  gold, 
Some  with  halberd,  shield  and  crest, 
Some  with  lances — nine  abreast — 
Four  hundred  lantern-bearers  came, 
With  their  lanterns  all  a-flame, 
Standards  with  -each  zodiac  sign, 
Four  and  twenty  in  a  line, 
All  in  colors  brightly  glowing, 
Heavenly  constellations  showing  ; 
Golden  fans  of  famous  size, 
Filled  me  with  a  great  surprise  ; 
Just  two  hundred,  where  did  slumber, 
Painted  dragons  without  number. 

Magnates  of  the  imperial  court, 
His  majesty's  commode  support, 
With  wines  of  an  imperial  date, 
With  luscious  fruits  on  golden  plate, 
Such  as  becomes  the  imperial  state. 

Next  advancing, 

Ten  white  horses,  gaily  prancing, 
Wrought  with  gems  from  seam  to  seam, 
Saddle-cloth  and  trappings  gleam, 
Gorgeous  as  an  eastern  dream  ; 


86  THROUGH    CHINA. 

'Midst  the  solemn  pomp  that  crowned  him, 
With  his  body-guard  around  him, 
Rode  the  Emperor,  Hein  Foung — 
Royal  princes  who  had  sprung 
From  the  blood  of  Eastern  kings, 
Clothed  with  all  that  honor  brings, 
Followed  fast  with  pomp  and  show, 
Every  charger  white  as  snow. 
Mandarins  marched  in  robes  of  state, 
Followed  by  the  wise  and  great ; 
Then  a  youthful,  regal  band, 
Five  hundred  nobles  of  the  land. 
Their  robes  of  crape  were  rare  to  see, 
Their  gaiters  broidered  to  the  knee  ; 
Of  acorn  shape,  their  caps  were  strewn 
With  gems  a  king  might  call  his  own  ; 
With  jeweled  fans,  and  glowing  flowers. 
Such  as  are  born  in  Eastern  bowers, 
In  beauty,  bearing,  wit  and  grace, 
The  chivalry  of  an  Eastern  race  ; 
A  thousand  footman  rode  behind, 
In  liveried  suits  of  every  kind. 

Ten  carriers  bore  an  empty  chair, 
Fashioned  of  ivory,  rich  and  rare, 
So  finely  carved,  such  perfect  art, 
Might  make  the  proudest  sculptor  start ; 
On  'broidered  back  and  cushioned  seat, 


THROUGH    CHINA.  87 

There  reigned  a  comfort  so  complete, 
Some  native  poet  might  have  sung 
Some  bard  with  Cowper's  tuneful  tongue, 
The  royal  chair  of  Hem  Foung. 

On  wheels  of  gilt  the  chariots  rolled, 

Then  vehicles  strange  to  behold, 

Some  by  horses  gaily  borne, 

Some  by  elephants  were  drawn. 

Whose  housings  might  have  been  like  those 

Oft  seen  by  Bagdad's  belles  and  beaux, 

When  in  her  prime,  with  regal  sway 

Her  caliphs  kept  their  gala  day. 

How  they  glistened  in  the  sun, 

Fifty  servants  to  each  one  ; 

Two  thousand  mandarins  more  appear, 

Then  cheer  on  cheer, 
As  the  royal  troops  brought  up  the  rear. 

Soft  fell  the  night, 

Where  costly  lanterns  burning  bright, 
Glowed  like  a  meteoric  shower, 
Caught  and  imprisoned  in  a  bower 
Where  Pekin's  belles  their  charms  displayed, 
To  noble  lords  of  princely  grade  ; 
Where  crapes,  and  'broideries,  and  brocade 
Mingled  their  witchery  rich  and  rare, 
With  the  olive  tint  and  the  raven  hair 


88  THROUGH    CHINA. 

Of  the  dark-browed  race  assembled  there  ; 

While  I,  clad  in  my  tartan  robe, 

Forgot  my  home,  half  round  the  globe, 

For  one  whose  almond  eyes 

Glowed  like  the  stars  in  his  own  skies  ; 

For  words — alas  !  they  came  too  late  ; 

Poetic  souls  might  call  it  fate — 

That  ere  my  heart  could  feel  the  glow, 

Could  learn  what  loving  hearts  would  know, 

My  buhl-clock  sounded  the  knell, 

The  peal  that  broke  the  spell, 

And  I  awoke — ah  !  sad  to  tell, 

Awoke  to  find  myself  alone — 

Awoke  to  find  my  castles  flown, 

While  at  my  side,  I  smiled  to  see 

The  porcelain  cup  beloved  by  me, 

The  cup  that  held  the  old  Bohea, 

The  dreamy,  fragrant,  spicy  tea, 

That  had  sent  me  wandering,  blithe  and  gay, 

Twice  five  thousand  miles  away. 


A    BALLAD.  89 

A    BALLAD. 

"I  fling  my  pebble  on  the  cairn." 

A.  SHADOW  lay 
Upon  the  earth,  no  blessed  ray 
Of  moon  or  star,  glanced  from  the  sky ; 
No  gleam  of  heaven  wandered  by  ; 
O'er  wood  and  dell  the  midnight  fell, 
A  hideous  pall,  a  withering  spell 
Upon  the  flower  and  on  the  rill, 
The  sultry  valley  and  the  hill, 
Above,  around,  no  light — no  sound, 
An  evil  slumber — deep — profound, 
Had  seized  the  valley  and  the  lake, 
Had  wrapped  the  flower,  the  wood  and  brake, 
You  dreamed,  they  never  more  might  wake. 

Beneath  these  skies  behold  a  room — 

Where,  struggling  with  the  midnight  gloom, 

Some  feeble  rays  of  pallid  light 

Stream  through  the  blackness  of  the  night ; 

These  pallid  rays  reveal  a  form 

Too  bright,  too  glowing  and  too  warm 

For  this  sad  earth — a  face  too  fair 

For  gleam  of  sea,  or  sky,  or  air 


9o  A     3ALLAD. 

To  tell  the  tints  reflected  there. 

The  yellow  light  of  the  golden  hair, 

Is  like  a  sun  whose  deathless  glow 

Only  the  happy  angels  know. 

The  lustrous  depth  of  the  azure  eye 

Is  caught  from  some  celestial  sky, 

But  on  the  lip — if  love,  alas  ! 

Be  of  the  earth,  and  doomed  to  pass 

From  out  the  heart — ah  !  then,  some  stain, 

Sweet  heaven's  loss — our  bliss,  our  gain, 

Is  hidden  there — love's  rapture  and  its  pain. 

For  her  the  pain — no  hope  did  live 

In  her  sweet  soul — no  hope  could  give 

A  single  ray,  to  light  the  way 

Through  that  weird  path,  where  lovers  stray, 

No  hope  for  her  whose  head  is  bowed, 

No  hope  for  her  whose  soul  hath  vowed 

A  mortal  love  to  one  whose  bed 

Had  long  been  made  amid  the  dead. 

A  yellow  scroll,  her  hands  unroll, 

What  is  it  charms  the  maiden's  soul  ? 

The  jewels  of  a  poet's  heart, 

The  echo  of  a  mighty  art, 

By  lily  fingers  are  unfurled, 

The  song  that  haunts  a  weary  world, 

And  lo  !  she  bends  a  listening  ear, 

As  if  her  tranced  soul  would  hear, 


A     BALLAD.  91 

Amid  the  waves  of  this  black  night, 
Some  rhythm  from  the  realms  of  light. 

Alas  !  no  sweetness  lifts  the  gloom, 

But  ghostly  voices  haunt  the  room, 

And  o'er  the  carpet's  fitful  glow 

Unearthly  footsteps  come  and  go, 

And  wailing  demons  swell  the  note 

The  mad  world  pours  from  its  false  throat ; 

The  evil  world  that  blasts  the  name, 

But  cannot  blast  the  poet's  fame. 

But  list — she  speaks — "  Thou  knowest  me  thine, 

By  all  these  charms  men  call  divine, 

By  all  the  feeble  joys  I've  nurst, 

By  all  that's  good,  by  all  accurst, 

Where'er  thy  tuneful  soul  may  dwell, 

In  bliss  or  pain — in  heaven  or  hell, 

By  all  these  charms  sweet  do  I  swear; 

Come  weal — come  woe — to  meet  thee  there." 

'Twas  scarcely  said — a  blinding  flash, 
A  fearful  and  unearthly  crash, 
That  echoed  o'er  a  thousand  hills, 
That  waked  the  valleys  and  the  rills, 
Flew  to  her  feet,  and  she  is  wed, 
Lenore — Lenore,  unto  the  dead. 
Sleeps  she  to-night,  a  happy  bride, 
By  him  she  loved,  for  whom  she  died. 


92  AN    OCTOBER    RAMBLE. 


AN  OCTOBER  RAMBLE. 

T\7IIY  call  them  sad,  these  autumn  days, 

The  woods — the  fields  are  all  ablaze ; 
'Tis  only  the  colder  tints  that  are  dead, 
We  have  royal  purple,  and  gold  and   red  ; 

Why  call  them  sad, 

Be  glad — be  glad, 
We  have  royal  purple,  and  gold  and  red. 

From  the  mountain  tips  the  mist  hath  rolled, 
Their  rugged  peaks  are  tipped  with  gold  ; 
If  'twere  not  for  the  hills,  so  fair  the  day, 
You  could  see  the  river — ten  miles  away  ; 

Past  wood  and  dale, 

And  winding  vale, 
You  could  see  the  river,  ten  miles  away. 

The  rose  is  dead — why  not  ?     'Tis  well ; 
The  violets  too,  that  grew  in  the  dell 
Are  seen  no  more,  but  in  their  place, 
Light  and  color,  beauty  and  grace, 

Of  every  shade, 

In  wood  and  glade, 
Light  and  color,  beauty  and  grace. 


AN    OCTOBER    RAMBLE.  93 

Hark  to  the  caw  of  the  cunning  crow, 
Lazily  flying  to  and  fro  ; 
The  cat-bird  sings  in  the  rustling  trees. 
The  golden-rod  waves  in  the  breeze  ; 

Flower  and  feather 

Mingled  together, 
The  golden-rod  waves  in  the  breeze. 

Along  the  fence,  far  out  of  sight, 
With  twisted  stems,  now  green,  now  white, 
The  clematis  climbs.     I  strive  in  vain 
To  sing  thy  charms  in  fitting  strain  ; 

O  favored  vine, 

No  song  of  mine 
Can  sing  thy  charms  in  fitting  strain. 

Ah  !  happy  month  that  calms  my  heart, 
But  stirs  my  pulse,  how  fair  thou  art ; 
I  drink  thy  air,  I  joy  to  feel 
Thy  breath  through  all  my  senses  steal ; 

Thy  calm,  thy  hush, 

Thy  glow,  thy  flush, 
Thy  breath  through  all  my  senses  steal. 

On  through  meadow,  wood  and  field, 
I  pluck  the  varied  blooms  they  yield  ; 
Along  the  fence  the  squirrel  flies  ; 


94  AN     OCTOBER    RAMBLE. 

As  loth  to  leave  its  native  skies, 

On  soaring  wings 

The  sweet  bird  sings, 
As  loth  to  leave  its  native  skies. 

Still  wandering  on  'neath  shade  and  sun, 

To  where  the  water-courses  run, 

Alder  bush  and  bitter-sweet, 

And  many  another  friend  I  greet ; 
Mosses  and  reeds, 
And  clambering  weeds, 

And  many  another  friend  I  greet. 

Upon  a  knoll  of  rising  ground 
Once  more  I  stand.     I  gaze  around, 
From  the  craggy  hollows  wierd  and  strange, 
To  the  sunlit  peaks  of  the  Highland  range; 

O'er  meadow  and  rill, 

O'er  level  and  hill, 
To  the  sunlit  peaks  of  the  Highland  range. 

What  varied  beauty  lies  between 
This  meadow  grass,  no  longer  green, 
And  those  high  peaks,  like  happy  souls, 
Lifted  above  earth's  meaner  roles  ; 

Like  hearts  at  rest, 

Like  spirits  blest, 
Lifted  above  earth's  meaner  roles. 


AN    OCTOBER    RAMBLE.  95 

Fair  meadow  lands,  where  the  cattle  stray, 
And  shadowy  depths  all  sere  and  gray. 
And  mossy  dells,  with  many  a  grove, 
Where  the  lonely  dryads  still  might  rove  ; 

Mysterious  woods, 

Where  silence  broods, 
Where  the  lonely  dryads  still  might  rove. 

I  catch  no  glimpse  of  the  winding  road, 
But  I  hear  the  teamster  with  his  load  ; 
Yet  scarcely  hear — so  faint  it  falls, 
While  Nature's  voice  so  loudly  calls  ; 

My  heart  is  thrilled, 

My  soul  is  filled, 
While  Nature's  voice  so  loudly  calls. 

Why  think  them  sad  these  autumn  days  ? 
The  woods — the  field  are  all  ablaze  ; 
What  brighter  robe  can  deck  the  fair, 
Than  the  radiant  robe  which  the  maples  wear  ? 

What  flower  can  show 

A  richer  glow, 
Than  the  radiant  robe  which  the  maples  wear  ? 

The  sturdy  oak,  first  in  the  realm, 
The  dogwood  and  the  stately  elm, 
Are  fair  to  see — yet  you  will  sigh, 


96      THE    DANCE     WITH    DEATH. 

The  leaf  must  fall — must  rot  and  die  ; 

You  sigh,  you  say, 

'Tis  for  a  day, 
The  leaf  must  fall — must  rot  and  die. 

Ah  !  foolish  heart,  is  it  not  plain, 
That  nature  makes  no  law  in  vain  ; 
The  red  leaf  falls  to  the  waiting  earth, 
Pushed  from  its  place  by  the  newer  birth ; 

Why  call  it  sad, 

Be  glad — be  glad, 
Pushed  from  its  place  by  the  newer  birth. 


THE    DANCE    WITH    DEATH. 

T  STOOD  like  one  that's  dreaming, 

Where  a  thousand  lights  were  gleaming, 
Where  a  thousand  eyes  were  glancing, 
And  a  thousand  feet  were  dancing  ; 
Where  the  music,  wild  and  glowing, 
Like  a  river  madly  flowing, 
Fill'd  the  room  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
O'er  my  senses  stealing,  stealing, 
Where  no  thought  or  word  was  spoken, 
But  a  silence  all  unbroken, 
Save  the  music's  'wildering  measure, 


THE    DANCE     WITH    DEATH.      97 

Not  a  moment's  time  nor  leisure  ; 

But  forever,  ever,  turning, 

Where  a  thousand  eyes  were  burning, 

In  my  soul  a  nameless  dread ; 

While  forever  on  we  sped, 

I,  the  living,  with  the  dead ; 

Still  forever  on  we  sped, 

I,  the  living,  'mong  the  dead. 

0,  the  dance  was  like  to  madness, 
Where  no  gleam  of  joy  or  gladness 
Lit  the  faces,  stony  faces, 
Bearing  still  the  maddening  traces 
Of  the  life  that  once  was  given, 
Like  the  marble,  hewn  and  riven, 
Nevermore  to  change  or  brighten, 
Nevermore  a  hope  to  lighten  : 

But  forever  turning,  twirling, 

Till  my  heart  and  brain  were  whirling, 

While  the  music  never  ceasing, 

Higher,  wilder,  still  increasing, 

Till  I  felt  the  burning  terror 

Of  a  soul  that's  lost  forever. 

Daylight  brightened,  on  we  sped, 

1,  the  living,  with  the  dead  ; 
Still  forever  on  we  sped, 

I,  the  living,  'mong  the  dead. 
7 


98  SAY     YOU  LIKE  ME. 


SAY    YOU    LIKE    ME. 

O  AY  you  like  me,  say  I  please  you, 

Say  my  wit  your  own  disarms, 
Say  I  hold  you,  say  I  tease  you, 

With  my  laughter  and  my  charms  ; 
Say  my  eyes  are  like  the  planets, 

Say  their  light  will  ne'er  deceive  you  ; 
Say  my  lips  are  sweet  as  sonnets, — 

Say  all  this,  and  I'll  believe  you. 
But,  O  say  not  that  you  love  me, 

Or  I'll  swear  that  you  dissemble  : 
As  the  stars  that  shine  above  me, 

Well  I  know  the  flash  and  tremble 

Of  the  eyes  yours  ne'er  resemble. 

Say  you  like  me,  say  I  move  you 

From  your  purpose  and  your  pride, 
Say  I  aid  you,  say  I  soothe  you 

When  the  ills  of  life  betide  ; 
Say  my  style  is  quite  the  fashion, 

Say  no  want  of  taste  can  grieve  you, 
Say  'tis  but  a  whim,  a  passion, — 

Say  all  this,  and  I'll  believe  you  ; 
But,  O  say  not  that  you  love  me, 

Or  my  heart  will  be  comparing, 


LAND-HO!  99 

Ay,  comparing  him  who  won  me — 
Won  me  with  love's  noble  daring, — 
To  your  calm  and  stately  bearing. 


LAND-HO  ! 

T  AND-HO  !  shrill  and  clear 

-""^     The  sailor's  song  fell  on  my  ear. 

Thro'  day  and  night,  thro'  night  and  day, 

Our  ship  had  come  a  weary  way. 

Land-ho  !  shrill  and  clear 

The  sailor's  song  fell  on  my  ear. 

Leaning  o'er  the  vessel's  side 
I  heard  the  song  that  swept  the  tide  ; 
"  Land-ho  !  " — a  joyous  strain, 
The  sailor's  song  across  the  main. 
The  sailor's  song, 

That  swept  away 
The  billowy  fields 
That  round  me  lay. 

Land-ho  !  before  me  stood 
The  shadowy  depths  of  the  pine-tree  wood  ; 
The  winding  road,  a  thread  between 
Familiar  slopes  of  changing  green  ; 


ioo       SUNBEAM    AND     SHADOW. 

The  cottage  on  the  flowery  lea, 
With  loving  hearts  that  wait  for  me. 

Leaning  o'er  the  vessel's  side 
I  heard  the  song  that  swept  the  tide  ; 
Land-ho  !  — a  joyous  note — 
The  sailor's  song  to  hearts  afloat. 
The  sailor's  song, 

That  swept  away 
The  billowy  fields 
That  round  me  lay. 

Land-ho  !    O,  what  the  lore 
Of  happy  souls  whose  voyage  is  o'er  ? 
Whose  barks  have  touched  the  final  shore  ? 
Where  lies  that  land, — where  flows  that  sea  ? 
Where  dwell  the  souls  that  wait  for  me  ? 


SUNBEAM  AND   SHADOW. 

TN  the  days  of  its  youth,  when  the  earth  was  in 
bloom, 

Like  a  flower  untouched  by  decay, 
Ere  sorrow  and  gloom,  or  the  mouldering  tomb, 

In  its  beautiful  bosom  lay  ; 


SUNBEAM    AND    SHADOW.-       \& 

No  emblems  of  evil  to  grieve  or  repel, 
Save  the  night-breathing  shadows  that  roamed  in 
the  dell. 

In  the  land  of  the  sun,  peerless  and  high, 
'Rose  a  palace,  no  legend  so  fair, 

No  mansion  can  vie  'neath  our  azure-hued  sky, 

With  that  mansion  that  'rose  in  the  air  ; 

In  this  palace  of  light,  to  the  seraphim's  chime, 

The  sunbeams  moved,  and  the  earth  kept  time. 

There  were   marvelous   isles   where   the   rippling 
green, 

Waved  in  the  glistening  blue, 
And  wherever  was  seen  this  glittering  sheen, 

The  sunbeams  wandered  through  : 
And  the  air  was  sweet  as  the  air  that  blows, 
O'er  the  silver  streams  where  the  nectar  flows. 

And    love    was    the   dream,    that    illumined    the 

hours, 

That  bade  the  bright  rivers  run  ; 
It  breathed  through  the  bowers,  it  reddened  the 

flowers, 

In  the  joy-steeped  world  of  the  sun, 
While  the  children  of  light,  the  sunbeams  there, 
Were  the  fairest  of  all,  where  all  was  fair. 


10,2        SUNBEAM    AND    SHADOW. 

Ah  !  woe  for  the  heart,  that  no  heaven  can  glow, 

But  in  its  ambrosial  breast 
Some  seed  shall  bestow,  some  flower  shall  grow, 

The  germ  of  the  great  unrest ; 
Ah  !  woe  that  a  sunbeam,  winsome  and  bright, 
In  a  kingdom  of  day,  should  weary  of  light. 

The  flowers  grew  pale,  at  the  poisonous  word 
Breathed  over  them  one  by  one, 

And  the  air  was  stirred  when  first  was  heard, 
A  sigh  in  the  realm  of  the  sun, 

While  love  for  a  moment  stooped  from  his  throne, 

And  fluttered  his  wings  with  an  answering  moan. 

Ah  !  woe  for  the  heart — for  the  child  that  strayed, 
For  the  child  with  wings  unfurled, 

Who  passed  from  a  glade,  which  never  shall  fade, 
With  the  dream  of  a  mundane  world, 

While  the  amorous  air  with  wistful  eye, 

Wooed  her  in  vain  as  her  wing  passed  by. 

Away — away  through  orb  and  sphere, 

Through  rifts  of  glittering  bars, 

'Till  the  sky  grew  drear,  and  the  soul  could  hear 
The  hymn  of  the  choral  stars  ; 

Away — away,  through  the  deep  profound, 

Where  like  cycles  of  light  the  worlds  go  round. 


SUNBEAM    AND    SHADOW.        103 

On  tireless  wing,  to  an  uttermost  shore, 

A  ray  of  luminous  mirth, 
'Till  the  voyage  was  o'er,  she  stooped  to  explore 

The  realm  of  the  fair  young  earth, 
From  the  crystal  wave  that  dimpled  the  sea, 
To  the  emerald  grass  on  the  lonely  lea. 

The  cowslips  thrilled  'neath  the  sudden  tread 
Of  her  light  and  twinkling  feet, 

O'er  the  rose  was  spread  a  livelier  red, 

And  the  dreamy  air  grew  sweet, 

'Till  weary  at  length,  she  silently  crept 

To  the  brow  of  a  rock,  and  the  sunbeam  slept. 

I  know  not  her  dream,  but  so  fair  a  thing 
Never  the  earth  may  unlock, 

While  the  folded  wing,  new  verdure  did  bring, 
To  the  brow  of  that  dim  gray  rock  ; 

What  wonder  that  he  who  gazed  should  feel 

A  new-born  joy  through  his  spirit  steal, 

I  know  not  her  dream,  fair  child  of  the  skies, 

Sated  with  dazzle  and  light, 
Who  opened  her  eyes  with  a  sweet  surprise, 

On  a  lord  from  the  realm  of  night ; 
What  wonder  a  sunbeam  weary  of  joy, 
Should  open  her  heart  to  its  earthly  alloy. 


io4  IN     MEMORIAM. 

Six  thousand  years  hath  the  sunbeam  smiled, 

A  rover  o'er  wood  and  hill, 
And  ever  beguiled  through  tangle  and  wild, 

The  shadow  is  following  still ; 
Six  thousand  years  have  they  traversed  the  earth, 
Light  and  darkness,  sorrow  and  mirth. 

Frail  mortal,  take  heed,  though  she  brighten  thy 
way, 

O'erflowing  thy  lip  with  laughter, 
Though  merry  and  gay  she  maketh  the  day, 

The  shadow  is  following  after ; 
Yet  pause  not  to  weep  when  dark  is  thy  view, 
Remember  the  sunbeam  is  floating  there,  too. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

TUST  twenty-one,  a  life  full-brimmed 

With  love,  and  faith,  and  truth, 
Just  twenty-one,  ere  time  had  dimmed 

One  star  that  crowned  his  youth  ; 
As  sinks  the  sun  in  western  skies 

With  morning's  lustre  rife, 
So  passed  he  from  our  earthly  eyes 

Beyond  the  gates  of  life. 


THE    LAST    PARTING.  ic 

They  point  our  gaze  to  worlds  more  fair, 

Where  ransomed  souls  have  birth, — 
We  only  see  the  vacant  chair 

Beside  our  lonely  hearth. 
They  whisper  of  some  happier  morn, 

That  gilds  a  far-off  shore, — 
We  only  know  a  step  hath  gone, 

That  entered  at  our  door. 

Perchance  when  time  our  brows  hath  kissed, 

'Mid  life's  divulging  flow, 
We  shall  be  glad  his  soul  hath  missed 

Some  pangs  'tis  ours  to  know  ; 
Perchance  in  some  swift  coming  day 

When  worldly  faith  grows  dim, 
With  tattered  hopes,  we,  too,  shall  say, 

Our  loss  was  gain  to  him. 


THE  LAST  PARTING. 

[BODY  TO  SOUL.] 

Tj^AREWELL,  old  comrade,  fare  thee  well ! 

Time  tolls  the  bell ;  the  parting  knell 
Strikes  on  my  ear  ;  farewell,  old  friend, 
Our  journey's  o'er — here  lies  the  end. 


io6  THE    LAST    PARTING. 

In  the  same  temple  we  have  dwelt, 
At  the  same  altars  we  have  knelt ; 
Life's  hopes  and  fears,  its  smiles  and  tears, 
We've  shared  them,  friend,  for  sixty  years. 

Twin  brothers  of  one  mortal  birth, 
One  sprung  from  heaven  and  one  from  earth. 
While  dreams  have  fled  and  joys  have  paled, 
Ours  is  the  love  that  hath  not  failed. 

'Tis  true  that  I,  bound  to  life's  track, 
Have  kept  thy  soaring  pinions  back — 
But  for  these  feet  which  kept  not  pace, 
Thou  might'st  have  run  a  swifter  race. 

And  yet,  old  friend,  I've  served  thee  well  ! 
This  faded  form  wherein  did  dwell 
Beauty  and  power,  and  strength  and  skill, 
For  sixty  years  hath  wrought  thy  will. 

These  eyes,  once  lit  with  fire  divine, 
This  peerless  brow,  these  lips,  are  mine — 
These  faded  lips,  which  love  hath  prest, 
These  hands,  fast  entering  into  rest. 

The  tuneful  tongue  that  gave  thee  speech, 
The  sculptured  ear,  through  which  could  reach 


BY     THE     SEA.  107 

Those  loving  tones  that  to  the  end 
Have  blest  thy  life,  are  mine,  old  friend. 

I  was  the  first,  the  loved  of  all ; 
On  me  the  last  sad  tears  shall  fall ; 
Yet  what  am  I,  with  that  last  breath, 
Which  gives  thee  life  and  brings  me  death  ? 

Above  my  head  the  grass  shall  grow, 
The  bright  birds  sing,  the  soft  winds  blow  ; 
The  wild  wood  flowers  shall  veil  my  brow — 
I  go  to  death  !     Where  goest  thou  ? 


BY  THE  SEA. 

T  LOVE  not  the  valleys,  the  woods  nor  the  dales, 

I  love  not  the  flowers  that  grow  in  the  vales, 
I  seek  not  the  joys,  the  delights  of  the  land, 
I  lay  by  the  sea — on  the  cold  damp  sand. 

For  a  year  or  more,  she  hath  lain  on  his  breast, 
For  a  year  or  more  he  hath  sung  me  to  rest ; 
While  I  watch  the  stars  in  the  cold  gray  sky, 
Where  the  pitiless  moon  goes  wandering  by. 


io8  BY     THE    SEA. 

'Twas  her  sire  that  spoke,  I  was  patient  and  mild, 
Though  he  laughed  me  to  scorn  when  I  asked  for 

his  child ; 
O,  this  heart  which  is  cold,  was  once  ardent  and 

bold, 
Could  its  blood  have  been  coined,  I'd  ne'er  wanted 

for  gold. 

But  they  bore  her  away — far  away  to  her  fate, 
They  left  me  alone  with  my  love  and  my  hate  ; 
And  her  face  grew  pale,  I  saw  in  my  dream, 
Like  the  pale-faced  lilies  that  live  by  the  stream. 

Ha,  ha !  'twas  in  vain,  the  ship  cut  the  foam, 
In  vain — 'twas  in  vain,  they  hurried  her  home  ; 
I  had  youth,  and  my  love ;  the  sea  is  old  and  so 

rough, 
But  she  sleeps  on  his  breast,  she  hath  glitter  enough. 

All  day  they  sit  alone  in  their  fine  old  hall, 
Alone  with  the  face  that  looks  down  from  the 

wall ; 
They  would  give  me  their  gold  for  the  life  that 

hath  gone  ; 
I  fling  back  their  pity,  and  laugh  them  to  scorn. 

I  watch  with  the  tide  on  the  lone  sea  side, 

And  wait  for  the  morn  that  shall  give  me  my  bride. 


DEACON     HALSTEAD.  109 


DEACON     HALSTEAD      ON      THE     NEW 
GOSPEL. 

nPROOLY  I  have  seen  some  changes  in  my  day, 
••     Many  souls — some  precious  ones — have  wan- 
dered away 

From  the  true  path— fallen  from  grace, 
'Tis  the  old  Adam,  in  a  poor  sinful  race.   • 

But  this  new  gospel  that  is  spredin'  over  the  land, 
I'm  not  lamed,  and  it  may  be  that  I  don't  stand 
Where  I  can  take  it  all  in — and  one  thing  is  plain, 
When  a  man  trades  his  stock  for  another,  there's  a 
lookout  for  gain. 

But  where  is  the  gain  in  this  new  teachin'  for  men  ? 
Is  there  balm  for  the  wounded  ?   A  man  dies — and 

what  then? 
Does  their  God  look  with  pity  on  our  sorrowful 

lot? 
Is  he  somethin'?  or  nothin'? — force,  matter,  or  what  ? 

Has  it  anything  better  to  give  to  a  man 

Than  the  Scripter  can  show?     Any  scheme,  any 

plan? 
When  the  evil  days  come,  in  whom  do  they  trust, 


no  DEACON     HALSTEAD. 

In  themselves  or  the  world  ?     Is  it  dust  dependin' 
on  dust? 

If  Moses  was  wrong  in  that  matter  of  time, — 
The  elect  of  God,  who  was  called  in  his  prime 
To  be  teacher  and  ruler — singled  out  in  his  youth, — 
If  Moses  was  wrong,  where  look  for  the  truth  ? 

If  they  believe  not  that  man  was  made  out  of  the 

earth, 
Why  believe  the  commandments  ?     Has  His  word 

any  worth  ? 

If  not,  what  is  right  ?  what  is  wrong  ? — for  you  see, 
That  conscience  is  larnin' — the  bent  twig  and  the 

tree. 

If  human  nater  was  content  to  eat,  drink  and  live, 
If  there  was  no  askin'  for  things  that  the  world 

cannot  give 

When  it  fadeth  away,  and  we  see  the  near  end 
Of  the  days  that  are  left — if  there  was  no  need  of 

a  friend, 

Of  a  friend  to  go  with  us,  to  bear  us  up  when  we 

fall, 

For  the  spirit  is  weak,  and  it  is  nat'ral  to  call 
For  an  arm  that  is  strong — thus,  making  it  clear, 
Being  nat'ral  to  call,  that  there's  some  one  to  hear. 


HE  SUFFERED   UNDER  PILATE,    in 

If  the  soul  had  no  needs — the  new  teaehin'  might 

take 

Force,  matter,  or  fire, — any  god  they  might  make 
Would  answer  as  well, — but,  to  my  mind,  the  old 

gospel  plan, 
That  answers  its  cry,  is  the  best  for  a  man. 


"HE  SUFFERED  UNDER  PONTIUS 
PILATE." 

TTE  was  a  ruler  in  the  land, 

"7™     Doomed  from  that  hour  a  niche  to  fill, 

Which  well  might  daunt  a  braver  soul 

Than  that  which  dared  not  work  its  will ; 
No  wrong  he  saw  in  that  just  man, 

Yet  took  the  rabble  for  his  guide  ; 
Almost  he  stretched  an  arm  to  save, 

Weak  arm,  that  could  not  stem  the  tide. 

Weak  heart,  that  thought  to  cleanse  his  hands 
Of  blood,  whose  every  drop  was  more 

Than  all  that  earth,  though  trebly  blest, 
Or  all  that  heaven  itself  could  pour  ; 

"  I  wash  my  hands  " — on  yours  the  blood 
That  shall  this  day  by  you  be  spilt. 


ii2     HE  SUFFERED   UNDER  PILATE. 

"Have  you  your  will? — my  soul  is  clean, 
Now  look  ye  to  it — on  yours  the  guilt." 

The  world  is  old,  that  then  seemed  young, 

Their  woes,  their  joys,  their  grief,  their  mirth, 
Like  the  bright  clouds  that  o'er  them  shone, 

Have  passed  forever  from  the  earth  ; 
The  busy  years  have  come  and  gone, 

Yet  'mid  the  waste,  and  'mid  the  rust, 
The  rise  of  nations,  and  their  fall, 

Amid  the  pomp  and  'mid  the  dust — 

"He  suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate." 

Did  he  wash  the  stain  away  ? 
Answer,  lips  that  speak  to  day ; 
Where'ere  the  name  of  Christ  is  known, 
O'er  every  land  and  sea  'tis  blown, 
It  is  the  dirge  whose  echoes  roll 
From  lip  to  lip,  through  heart  and  soul, 
From  youth,  from  age,  from  high,  from  low, 
Eternal  as  the  waves  that  flow  ; 

"  He  suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate." 

Weakness  that  shall  never  die, 
Every  year  takes  up  the  cry, 
'Tis  on  the  winds  that  hover  nigh, 
'Tis  on  the  waves,  a  mournful  sigh, 
The  earth  repeats  it  to  the  sky 


WITH     YOU.  113 

In  trumpet  tongues — up  from  the  sod, 
To  witness  at  the  throne  of  God — 

"  He  suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate." 


H 


WITH    YOU. 

AD  fate  so  willed  it — when  our  hearts  beat 

high 

With  faith  and  hope,  beneath  some  softer  sky, 
I  would  have  liked  with  you  to  wander  hand  in 

hand ; 
I  would  have  liked  to  wander  and  to  stand — 

Where  we  so  often  in  our  dreams  have  stood, 
In  some  fair  spot  where  fancy  loves  to  brood, 
Where  every  hill,  and  every  plain  and  stone, 
Tells  to  the  heart  some  legend  of  its  own. 

Where  Venice  rises,  like  a  phantom  of  the  past, 
With  all  its  glamour  o'er  her  beauty  cast ; 
I  would  have  liked,  beneath  the  moon's  soft  rays, 
Lulled  by  the  dripping  oar,  with  you  to  gaze — 

On  those  fair  palace  walls,  to  people  them  once 

more 
With  all  the  glory  of  their  day — its  mystery  and 

and  its  lore  ; 


ii4  WITH     YOU. 

To  muse  o'er  Petrarch's  love,  o'er  Titian's  fame, 
To   mark   each   spot  linked   with   some  glorious 
name. 

I  would   have   liked,   ere   time    had    chilled  my 

heart, 

To  stand  with  you — from  all  the  world  apart — 
On  that  sad  spot  which  spans  the  sultry  wave, 
The  fated  bridge,  whose  "  sighs,"  alas  !  mean  tor- 
ture and  the  grave. 

I  would  have  liked  with  reverent  feet  to  tread 
On  Spartan  soil — while  heart  and  soul  were  fed 
With  Spartan  deeds — proud  site,  whose  fair  fame 

rests 
On  heroes'  feats,  whose  walls*  were  heroes'  breasts. 

Where  Athens  stands,  shorn  of  its  beauty  and  its 

grace, 

With  you  to  wander  by  my  side,  with  you  to  trace 
Some  gleam  of  what  had  been — on  storied  hill  and 

plain, 
Where  ruined  shrine,  where  broken  arch  and  fane 


*  "  Sparta  was  destitute  of  walls,  till  it  fell  under  the  do- 
minion of  tyrants,  after  the  time  of  Alexander.  The  breasts 
of  its  brave  defenders  were  esteemed  an  adequate  defense." 


WITH     YOU.  115 

Spoke  to  each  fervent  heart — our  listening  souls 

to  fill 
With   memories   of    those   strains   whose    echoes 

linger  still ; 
This  would  have  been  a  joy  that  neither  sighs  nor 

tears 
Could  dim,  that  would  have  lived  through  life's 

benumbing  years. 

To  muse  in  Corinth,-  or,  once  more,  beneath  Italia's 

skies, 

To  dream  where  Dante  dreamed,  to  waft  our  sighs 
Where  Tasso  sighed — with  reverent  souls  to  bow, 
Where  Florence  wears  her  faded  wreath,  upon  a 

faded  brow. 

Or  where  her  rival  stands,  to  gaze  for  one   brief 

hour, 
To  muse  on  time  and  fate,  beneath  proud  Pisa's 

tower  ; 

And  then,  at  last — beneath  that  mighty  dome, 
What  joy  it  would  have  been  to  stand — we  two — 

in  Rome. 

Alas  !  'twas  not  to  be  ;  there's  many  a  bark  that 

drifts 

To  arid  shores, — so  fate,  her  kindest  gifts 
Too  often  yields,  to  hearts  which  give  not  back 
That  perfumed  grace,  which  colder  souls  may  lack. 


n6   "KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS!* 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS." 

TTIGH  hang  the  clouds  in  the  noon-day  sky, 

The  grass-grown  hills  are  all  a-glow  ; 
The  wanton  breeze  goes  sauntering  by, 
Seeking  the  stream  where  the  violets  grow. 

Under  the  brake  and  over  the  bridge, 
I  hymn  my  thanks  to  the  purple  skies  ; 

Through  the  valley  and  over  the  ridge, 
I  catch  the  beauty  that  round  me  lies. 

The  bright  cascades  and  the  oaken  glades, 
The  vine-clad  rocks  where  the  dryads  dream, 

The  floating  lights  and  the  purple  shades, 
Where  the  red-lipped  flowers  gleam. 

With  never  a  cloud  to  dim  the  scene, 
With  never  a  thought  to  mar  the  hour, 

'Till  luckless  fate — across  the  green, 
I  mark  a  favorite  flower. 

O  bud  so  fair,  O  bud  so  sweet, 

I'll  pluck  thee  ere  I  pass  ; 
O  words  that  stay  my  wandering  feet, 
.    O  pregnant  words — "Keep  off  the  grass." 


AN    ODE     TO     TEA.  117 

Ah  !  heart  of  mine,  'tis  ever  the  same — 

The  world  may  frown,  and  the  preacher  preach, 

The  gods  may  give  what  a  god  may  claim, 
We  sigh  for  the  bud  beyond  our  reach. 

There's  never  an  Eden,  calm  or  free, 

Sublimed  by  nature  or  blest  by  art, 
But  it  holds  the  one  forbidden  tree 

Which  draws  the  sunshine  from  the  heart. 


AN  ODE  TO  TEA. 


A    MAN  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  cherry, 
•—•     Will  brag  of  his  Brandy,  Hock,  or  Sherry, 

Year  after  year 
He'll  ring  its  praises  in  your  ear  ; 

Keep  clear !  keep  clear  ! 
Wine  is  a  costly  cup,  my  dear, 
Burgundy,  Malmsey,  Claret  and  Port, 
All  your  pleasures,  all  your  sport, 
With  all  your  joys  increased  tenfold, 
Tho'  all  your  drops  were  brimmed  with  gold, 
You  never  can  pay  for  the  heads  that  ache, 
You  never  can  pay  for  the  hearts  you  break. 


ti8  AN    ODE     TO     TEA. 

A  man  that  has  Croton  on  the  brain 
For  him  my  song  is  written  in  vain  ; 
He  rides  a  hobby — check  nor  rein 
He  never  will  pull,  while  in  one  cleft 
Of  this  round  earth,  a  puddle  is  left ! 
Water  is  good  when  the  dog  star  rages, 
Tis  good  for  children  of  tender  ages  ; 

But  as  for  me, 

['11  take  it  boiled,  with  a  drachm  of  tea, 
Hyson,  young  or  old,  or  the  black  Bohea, 
That  grows  amid  thy  hills,  Wo-ee. 
Sweet  blossom,  fragrant  as  the  rose, 
May  every  wind  that  o'er  thee  blows, 
Be  like  a  lover,  fond  and  true, 
All  thy  perfumed  beauties  woo, 
Feed  thee  with  sunshine  and  with  dew  ; 
Safe  be  the  wave,  and  kind  the  breeze 
That  wafts  thy  product  o'er  the  seas, 
Thou  pet  of  every  woman  born, 
Without  which,  life  were  quite  forlorn. 

What  tongue  can  tell 

The  witching  spell, 
The  joy,  the  charm,  the  lullaby, 
The  Circe  that  in  thy  cup  doth  lie  ; 

Not  tuneful  Homer, 
Not  all  the  songs  the  bards  have  sung, 
Since  time,  and  song,  alike  were  young. 

Have  half  thy  sweet  aroma. 


AN    ODE     TO     TEA.  119 

Congou,  Souchong,  and  Bohea, 
Lively,  racy,  piquant  tea, 

What  lips  to-night 

Your  joys  invite 

What  eyes  grow  bright, 

What  hearts  unite 
Around  the  social  board  ; 
What  fragrant  streams  are  poured, 
Thou  the  open  sesame  art, 
To  each  true  and  loving  heart, 
Half  the  cares  that  mark  the  day, 
At  your  entrance  melt  away  ; 
Congou,  Souchong,  and  Bohea, 
Lively,  racy,  piquant  tea. 

Many  a  cherished  dream  may  die, 
I  have  neither  tear  nor  sigh  ; 
Give  to  me  the  chosen  few 
Hearts  which  time  hath  proven  true, 
Then  place  the  viands,  draw  the  chairs, 
Shut  out  the  world  and  all  its  cares, 
While  wit  and  wisdom  catch  the  glow 
That  from  the  fragrant  stream  doth  flow, 
While  friend  to  friend  doth  dearer  grow, 

My  toast  shall  be 
Congou,  Souchong,  and  Bohea, 
Lively,  racy  piquant  tea. 

Tho  Bobea  grows  in  the  Wo-ee  hills  in  Fokien,  the  great 
untry  for  black  tea. 


120  TO    A     PORTRAIT. 


TO  A  PORTRAIT. 

I  dream  ?    Am  I  striving  to  trace 
In  this  cold,  this  calm,  emotionless  face 
Some  track  of  a  life,  once  warm  and  bright  ? 
Lips  hard  and  thin  !     Did  your  roses  invite 
Some  kindred  heart  to  lay  on  your  shrine 
All  the  passionate  love,  the  aroma  divine, 
Of  the  heart's  first  dream  ?    Do  you  know  the  bliss 
That  is  born  and  locked  in  the  heart's  first  kiss  ? 

Brow  fair  and  calm  ;  too  calm,  too  fair 

In  the  burden  of  life  to  have  borne  your  share — 

Does  the  soul  look  down  ?     Tell  me,  do  you  know, 

When  I  was  a  child — long  years  ago — 

How  you  chilled  the  flowers  on  youth's  fair  plains  ? 

So  cold  was  the  blood  in  your  pale  blue  veins — 

And  I  echo  the  cry  that  was  born  that  day. 

Have  you  cheered  one  heart  on  your  desolate  way  ? 

Hands,  formal  and  thin !   have  you  held  in  your 

palm 

Some  large,  strong  life,  to  grow  quiet  and  calm 
At    your  redolent   touch?      Have    you    lovingly 

strayed 
'Mid  the  fair  locks  of  youth  ?     Have  you  plucked 

and  played 


WELCOME.  121 

With  the  roses  of  life  ?    Rigid  and  cold  ! 

I  seek  not  the  key  which  shall  ever  unfold 

One  line  of  your  face.     I  but  know"  that  this  hour 

Holds  not  in  its  hand  a  tear,  nor  a  flower, 

Nor  anything  fair  to  offer  to  you ; 

That,  from  my  heart  to  yours,  nothing  is  due 

But  a  poor,  vague  sense,  without  perfume  or  beauty, 

Of  a  wearisome,  cold  and  arduous  duty. 


WELCOME. 

"VTTELCOME,  Baby  !    Cradle  slumbers, 
Loving  dreams,  in  softest  numbers, 
Sweet  as  music's  sweetest  closes 
Strew  thy  infant  path  with  roses. 

Welcome  !  while  in  love  reclining 
May  thy  soul,  with  fond  divining 
Clasp  the  wreath  her  hand  is  twining, 
May  it  live  a  royal  glory 
In  thy  life's  unfolded  story. 

Welcome  !  though  thy  bark  be  lying 
Where  the  bitter  winds  are  sighing, 
May  its  anchor  ne'er  be  riven, 
May  the  ills  the  gods  have  given, 
Be  thy  stepping-stones  to  heaven. 


122  KING    DEATH. 

KING  DEATH. 

[A   FRAGMENT.] 

Tj^ROM  the  east  to  the  west, 

From  the  south  to  the  north, 
Let  a  living  world 
In  its  strength  come  forth  ; 
Sound  the  alarum 
With  buckler  and  shield, 
Down  through  the  valley, 
Away  to  the  field  ; 
We  will  drive  out  this  foe, 
Who  tramples  our  flowers, 
Who  rifles  the  kisses 
From  the  lips  that  are  ours  ; 
Who  counts  not  by  numbers, 
Nor  reckons  by  time, 
Who  hath  stepped  from  the  ages 
Bedewed  with  the  rime, 
The  hoar-frost  of  nations — 
A  marvelous  pace, 
O'er  chasms  of  darkness, 
Still  winning  the  race, 
From  the  chaos  of  earth 
To  a  world  in  its  prime. 


EVOLUTION.  123 

Who  wears  on  his  forehead 
The  dust  of  the  years, 
Yet  stands  at  the  portal 
Of  far-reaching  spheres  ; 
Who  taketh  our  treasures, 
Mound  upon  mound, 
Yet  waveth  his  flag 
In  eternity's  round. 
A  crown  immortal 
Be  ever  his  own, 
Who  will  thrust  King  Death 
From  his  ebon  throne. 


EVOLUTION. 

A  H,   dear !    what   seons    have    rolled   on   their 
^^          course, 

What  cycles  of  time  have  flown, 
Come  sit  by  my  side,  let  us  trace  to  its  source 

The  changes  these  bodies  have  known. 
You  remember  it,  dear,  the  long,  long  ago, 

When 'love  first  entered  each  heart, 
We  were  polliwigs  then,  you  remember  the  glow, 

The  rapture  that  love  did  impart. 

Of  the  frogs,  who,  wiser  and  older  than  we, 
Had  passed  through  this  rapturous  state, 


i24  EVOLUTION. 

No  record  is  kept,  for  the  numbers,  you  see, 

Would  be  for  a  mortal  too  great. 
You  remember  them,  dear  ;  the  rejoicing  of  some, 

The  croakings  of  many,  that  feared 
The  tumult  and  joy,  when  our  hour  had  come 

And  two  beautiful  frogs  appeared. 

How  charming  you  were  !  there  never  was  seen 

A  frog  such  a  model  in  size. 
What  colors  you  wore,  what  yellow  and  green, 

What  delicate  limbs,  what  wonderful  eyes ! 
You  remember  it,  sweet,  the  honors  I  won, 

The  leaps  that  you  thought  were  so  fine. 
O  never  a  frog  lived  under  the  sun 

Whose  leaping  was  better  than  mine. 

The  world  was  our  own,  between  the  four  zones, 

There  was  nothing  to  worry  us  then, 
No  terrible  boys,  no  pelting  with  stones, 

No  bother  of  women  or  men  ; 
When  our  bodies  grew  old  we  never  did  fret, 

But  entered  another  as  fair  ; 
You  remember  it,  love,  how  oft  we  have  met 

In  the  sea,  on  the  earth,  in  the  air. 

It  is  true  that  sometimes  you  were  lost  to  my  sight, 
While  ages  on  ages  went  by  ; 


EVOLUTION.  125 

But  these   partings,  my  love,  but   enhanced  the 

delight 

When  each  to  the  other  drew  nigh. 
So    the    cycles   went    round,  'till    one     glorious 

morn 

In  a  far-away  beautiful  clime, 
Where  millions  of  monkeys  the  scene  did  adorn, 
Once  more  we  were  born  into  time. 

Ah  !  those  were  the  days  of  beauty  and  worth, 

No  days  with  them  can  compare  ; 
Ah  !  those  were  the  days  when  to  live  on  the  earth 

Was  a  feast  that  the  gods  might  share. 
So  high  were  the  trees  that  the  topmost  boughs 

Seemed  lost  in  the  clouds  above, 
In  the  high  papaw  we  plighted  our  vows, 

Eating  and  chatting  of  love. 

The  vigorous  grass  in  forest  and  glade 

Grew  then  as  the  Maker  had  willed, 
Ah  !  the  fruits  and  the  flowers,  what  a  glory  they 
made, 

How  the  air  with  their  odor  was  filled ! 
But  we  tarried  not  long,  and  millions  of  years 

Have  left  on  the  loam  and  the  clay 
The  print  of  their  steps,  since  our  eyes  and  our 
ears 

Were  regaled  with  the  joys  of  that  day. 


126  BURY    ME    FAR    AWAY. 

It  has  passed  like  a  dream,  and  again  we  are  here  ; 

We  have  started  once  more  on  our  route, 
We  are  known  as  a  man  and  a  woman,  my  dear, 

The  latest  production  that's  out. 
These  manners,  these  houses,  these  bodies,  these 
clothes, 

Are  the  least  of  the  ills  we  endure, 
For  each  pleasure  we  have,  there  are  ninety-nine 
woes, 

We've  a  miserable  time,  to  be  sure  ! 

We  have  learned  in  our  travels  that  life's  but  a  span, 

And  the  wise  are  endeavoring  to  show 
That  things  settle  back  to  where  they  began — 

All  running  in  circles,  you  know  ; 
Then  "ring  out  wild  bells,"  both  folly  and  crime, 

Ring  out  the  women  and  men, 
O  ring  in  the  past,  ring  in  the  good  time, 

When  we  shall  be  monkeys  again. 


BURY    ME    FAR    AWAY. 

T)URY  me,  bury  me  far  away, 

Where  the  sweet  birds  carol  the  live-long  day, 
Where  the  wild  flowers  bloom,  and  the  murmuring 

breeze 
Floats  music-like  on  through  the  bending  trees. 


THE    GOLDEN-ROD.  127 

Bury  me,  bury  me  far  away, 
Where  the  winds  sigh  forth  a  mournful  lay, 
Where  the  crimson  leaves  grow  brown  and  sere. 
Weird  imprints  of  the  dying  year. 

Bury  me,  bury  me  far  away, 

Where  the  sun  looks  down,  and  the  moonbeams 

play 

On  the  drifting  snow  piled  deep  and  high, 
Beneath  whose  floor  the  new  germs  lie. 

Bury  me,  bury  me  far  away, 
Where  the  grass  grows  green  in  the  lap  of  May, 
Where  the  flowers  awake  into  new  life  born, 
Fair  types  of  the  resurrection  morn. 


THE  GOLDEN-ROD. 


On  the  Golden-Rod  the  witches  of  old  were  supposed  to 
assemble  to  take  their  serial  flight  over  town  and  tower,  to 
the  mustering  ground,  where  they  assembled  to  plot  against 
the  weal  of  their  neighbors. 

IVTOW  well  I  know  it  cannot  be. 
-^      By  all  that's  fair,  they  libel  thee, 
My  bonny  flower  ;  nor  witch  nor  sprite 
Would  dare  upon  thy  bloom  to  light. 


128  THE    GOLDEN-ROD. 

Pride  of  the  wayside  and  the  field, 
Thy  simple  grace  more  joy  doth  yield 
Than  many  a  flower  nurtured  with  care, 
Which  love  may  give  or  beauty  wear. 

Ere  autumn's  leaf  was  tinged  with  red, 
Before  thy  golden  bloom  had  fled, 
With  eager  hand,  and  captive  heart, 
With  lips  that  said,  how  fair  thou  art, —     . 

I  plucked  thy  charms — when  skies  grow  drear, 
When  yellow  woods  grow  brown  and  sere, 
Something,  I  said,  of  happier  mien, 
Shall  linger  where  thy  leaf  is  seen. 

Six  moons  have  been,  six  moons  have  past, 
And  blustering  March  has  come  at  last ; 
And  still  thy  bloom,  thy  tender  grace 
Looks  down  from  many  a  niche  and  vase. 

Yet  well  I  know  vexed  hearts  will  say, 
That  many  a  witch,  and  sprite,  and  fay 
Doth  work  us  woe — alas  !  I  sigh, 
None  better  know  this  truth  than  I. 

'Twas  yester-noon  three  dishes  fell, 
The  reason  why  no  tongue  can  tell ; 
With  nicks  and  breaks  they  do  their  share, 
To  spoil  my  temper  and  my  ware. 


READING     THE     TEA-CUP.        129 

Powder  and  perfumes  fly,  alas  ! 
Like  breath  on  air,  or  dew  on  grass ; 
And  pins  take  wings,  and  needles  go, 
But  where — not  wisdom's  self  can  show. 

Scratches  and  soils  my  patience  claim, 
With  neither  hands  nor  heads  to  blame, 
And  what  more  vexes  heart  and  brain, 
My  hopes  are  killed,  my  plans  are  slain. 

Yet  well  I  know  it  cannot  be. 
By  all  that's  fair,  they  libel  thee, 
My  bonny  flower  ;  nor  witch  nor  sprite, 
Would  dare  upon  thy  bloom  to-light. 


READING    THE    TEA-CUP. 


hither,  Nurse,"  said  pretty  Kate  ; 
hate>er  your  art  may  see, 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  read  me  my  fate  !  — 
What  bodes  this  cup  to  me  !  " 

The  flower  of  flowers,  the  pearl  of  pearls, 

Was  Kate,  our  village  queen  ; 
Whose  springing  step  and  tossing  curls 

Made  sunshine  on  the  green. 
9 


130        READING     THE     TEA-CUP. 

An  April  eye,  blue  as  the  sky  ; 

Wild  roses  in  her  cheek, 
Where,  soft  and  shy,  the  dimples  lie  ; 

With  lips  that  more  than  speak. 

Like  music's  burst,  the  voice  of  Kate 

Rang  out  in  maiden  glee — 
"  Come  hither,  Nurse  ;  read  me  my  fate  !  - 

What  bodes  this  cup  to  me  ?  " 

The  tuneful  notes  o'er  hill  and  dale 

The  listening  echoes  bore  ; 
The  zephyrs  lingered  in  the  vale, 

To  hear  Nurse  Wilder's  lore. 

The  floral  world  of  belles  and  beaux 
Forgot  their  aches  and  smarts  ; 

The  Cypress-tree  forgot  his  woes — 
The  Foxglove  all  his  arts  ; 

The  Larch  forgot  the  young  Heart's-ease, 
Though  on  love's  errand  bent ; 

The  Rose,  to  listen  to  the  breeze, 
The  fickle  Larkspur  sent  ; 

The  Poppy's  eyes  were  opened  wide  ; 

The  Myrtle's  heart  of  flame 
Forgot  the  Laurel  at  her  side, 

Who  quite  forgot  his  fame. 


READING     THE     TEA-CUP.        131 

Though  silent  grew  each  fragrant  lay, 

Sweet  spirit  eyes  looked  up, 
And  saw,  beside  the  silver  tray 

Nurse  Wilder  turn  the  cup  ! 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  "  a  gay,  gold  ring, 

A  youth  all  youths  above, 
Whose  hair  is  like  the  raven's  wing, 

Whose  heart -is  warm  with  love. 

"  I  see  a  robe  like  silver  mist  ; 

I  see  a  coach  and  four ; 
I  see  the  lips  which  love  hath  kist 

Go  smiling  from  this  door  ; 

"  I  see  a  church,  a  bridal  pair, 

'Mid  hearts  which  time  hath  tried  ; 

I  see  the  maid  who  enters  there 
Come  out  a  happy  bride. 

"  The  seed  of  many  a  blooming  flower 

That  lines  our  path  to-day, 
Shall  nestle  in  the  bridal  bower, 

And  strew  the  bridal  way  !  " 

Twelve  months  ago  that  cup  was  read, 
While  Summer  skies  were  blue  ; 

The  children  of  the  flowers  now  dead 
Have  proved  the  reading  true. 


1 32  THE    FAIRY'S    GIFT. 


THE    FAIRY'S    GIFT. 

A     CRADLE  stood  in  a  darkened  room, 
•£*-     Where  a  fair-haired  babe  was  sleeping  ; 
No  smile  of  love  lit  up  the  gloom, 

A  watch  o'er  the  baby  keeping. 
The  zephyr  sighed  as  it  floated  past, 

A  summer  fragrance  flinging  ; 
It  kissed  the  babe,  but  its  lot  was  cast 

Where  the  summer  birds  were  singing. 

It  floated  on,  but  a  wave  of  light 

O'er  the  beauteous  child  was  bending ; 
Ah !  never  was  seen  so  fair  a  sprite 

As  the  tiny  form  descending. 
Her  kirtle  was  born  of  the  azure  blue, 

The  summer  skies  adorning, 
Her  vest  a  gleam  of  the  golden  hue 

That  gems  a  dream  of  morning. 

The  fairy  gazed  on  the  sleeping  child, 
'Till  its  face  grew  like  the  beaming 

Of  an  earthly  heart,  when  love  hath  smiled, 
And  kissed  it  into  dreaming. 

And  when  she  spake  the  dulcet  lay 
Was  like  the  wind-harp's  singing ; 


DOWN    BROADWAY.  133 

Or  the  zephyr's  sigh,  that  passed  away, 
A  summer  fragrance  flinging. 

"  I  live  in  a  summer  bower, 

I  roam  in  a  tangled  brake, 
I  love  the  crimson  flower, 

As  the  moonlight  loves  the  lake. 
I  have  counted  the  spears  of  grass, 

As  lovers  count  the  leaves 
In  the  daisy's  cup,  whenever  they  pass 

Out  in  the  golden  eves. 

"  I  live  in  a  summer  bower, 

I  roam  in  a  tangled  wild, 
I  come  with  a  rhythmic  dower — 

A  gift  for  a  lonely  child." 
It  will  charm  her  in  love's  decay, 

When  friends  no  longer  throng  ; 
It  will  keep  the  dead  away, 

My  beautiful  gift  of  song. 


DOWN  BROADWAY. 

TN  the  pleasant  month  of  June — 

Pleasant  June  ! 
When  the  earth  was  like  a  heaven,  full  of  tune— 


134  DOWN    BROADWAY. 

I,  the  fragment  of  a  song, 

Fashioned  into  clay, 
In  and  out  among  the  throng 
With  the  tide  was  borne  along 
Down  the  public  way ; 
Where  the  feet,  feet,  feet, 
Kept  a  quick  and  running  beat, 

To  the  music  in  my  soul,  to  the  rhythm  of  the  street ; 
Kept  a  quick  and  running  beat, 

To  the  music  in  my  soul,  to  the  rhythm  of  the  street. 

O,  the  happy  month  of  June — 
Happy  June  ! 

Welcome  as  a  lover's  hope,  gone  as  soon  ! 
Like  the  quick  and  fiery  glance 

Flashing  thro'  the  soul ! 
Waking  from  its  dreamy  trance 
As  we  go,  this  dizzy  dance 

Rushing  to  the  goal ; 
And  I  thought  me,  as  I  sped, 
Eyes  so  bright,  lips  so  red, 
Ye  shall  walk  the  solemn  silence  thro'  the  midnight 

of  the  dead ; 

Eyes  so  bright,  lips  so  red, 

Ye  shall  walk  the  solemn  silence  thro'  the  midnight 
of  the  dead. 


PASS    ON.  135 


PASS  OK 

~D  ASS  on — lost  among  the  crowd, 

Time  shall  not  restore  thee  ; 
A  loving  heart  that  lowly  bowed 
No  longer  bends  before  thee. 

A  goal  to  win,  a  thread  to  weave 
Ah  !  when  my  soul  hath  won  it ; 

No  sigh,  nor  tear  shall  ever  leave 
A  stain  of  time  upon  it. 

Pass  on — you'll  not  unclasp  the  link 
That  shines  for  orbs  supernal ; 

For  every  rose-leaf  on  the  brink 
Shall  float  to  spheres  eternal. 

Let  love  be  chary  of  the  breath 

That  wafts  the  mist  away, 
He's  roaming  where  the  gates  of  death 

Turn  on  a  brighter  day. 

Pass  on — for  frailer  hearts  have  won, 
And  sadder  hearts  shall  wait ; 

When  my  thread  of  light  is  spun, 
I'll  meet  thee  at  the  gate. 


136          RICH    MAWS    BURDEN. 

THE   RICH    MAN'S    BURDEK 
(THE  VALLEY   OF  THE    SHADOW   OF   DEATH.) 

TT7ITH  solemn  tread — tramp — tramp, 

A  deathless  flow, 
To  the  shadowy  camp 
.    Where  the  dead  men  go. 
Ah  !  weary  soul,  see,  on  the  right, 
Huge  rocks  ;  a  rayless  gloom, 
Dark  as  an  evil  doom, 
Shuts  out  the  promised  light ; 
While  evermore,  upon  the  left, 
Mysterious  paths  do  wind  and  wind, 
Dark  as  the  ways  of  human  kind, 
Ah,  God !  one  knows  not  where. 
One  barkless  trunk,  like  a  soul  bereft 
Of  life's  sweet  hope,  grim  as  despair, 
Doth  rear  its  head,  from  out  yon  cleft, 
To  meet  the  clouds,  this  sunless  arch, 
Beneath  whose  dome  the  dead  men  march. 
And  still  there  glooms  upon  my  sight, 
By  the  dim  horizon's  brassy  light, 
A  rugged  causeway,  lone  and  steep, 
'Tis  enough  to  make  a  dead  man  weep, 
To  see  beyond  that  darker  night. 


RICH    MAWS    BURDEN.  137 

And  evermore,  I've  heard  it  said, 

That  at  this  entrance,  lone  and  dread, 

Of  the  dim  regions  of  the  dead, 

A  hideous  figure,  wan  and  pale, 

Clothed  in  impenetrable  mail, 

Throws  its  black  shadow  thro'  the  vale. 

'Tis  a  cruel  thing  to  see  it  flit, 

O'er  herbless  stones,  and  the  yawning  pit. 

'Tis  a  cruel  thing  to  see  it  sit 

Forever,  at  the.  far-off  goal, 

A  fearful  weight  on  a  dead  man's  soul. 

A  solemn  tread — tramp — tramp, 
A  deathless  flow, 
To  the  shadowy  camp 
Where  the  dead  men  go. 

Who  said  the  things  of  time, 

Spoils  of  an  earthly  clime, 

Should  rot  and  die  ? 

'Twas  a  priestly  lie. 

Friend,  all  men  to  me  did  bow, 

Upon  my  earthly  road, 

With  the  sweat  of  labor  on  thy  brow, 

Why  are  thy  hands  so  empty  now  ? 

Help,  with  this  glittering  load, 

You  knew  me  there,  for  the  tale  was  told, 

'Till  it  grew  and  grew  to  a  fame, 


138          RICH    MAN^S    BURDEN. 

And  everywhere  men  spoke  my  name, 
As  one  whose  touch  might  turn  to  gold, 
Whatever  there  was  of  worth  or  shame. 

Did  the  poor  man  turn  from  my  gate, 

Did  the  widow  plead  in  vain, 

More  gold  for  the  heir,  ah!  God,  this  pain. 

Fool  to  have  heaped  it  back  again  ; 

To  have  heaped  it  back  on  a  dead  man's  brain. 

Where  it  grows  and  grows  like  a  venomous  hate, 

Scale  after  scale  its  coils  unfold, 

Scale  after  scale  of  glittering  gold. 

Is  it  the  fiend,  whose  subtle  tongue 

Did  tempt  our  mother,  when  the  earth  was  young? 

Or  is  it  but  a  crown — a  golden  crown, 

That  bears  me  down — down  ; 

Help,  friend,  with  this  burdensome  weight. 

Thy  soul  doth  speak  what  mine  must  hear, 
Ah  !  words  of  more  than  mortal  fear  ; 
Thy  hands  are  full,  each  hath  his  share, 
Each  separate  soul  some  load  doth  bear 
Through  this  strange  valley,  dark  and  drear  ; 
Is  there  no  path — no  desert  path, 
Such  as  the  bright  world  hath 
Filled  with  vain  hopes  and  vain  regrets, 
On  which  some  sun  forever  sets? 
That  stagnant  pool  we  called  the  past, 
Where  I  this  glittering  load  might  cast. 


ALONE.  139 

Ah  !  woe  to  bear  a  mortal  weight, 
Chained — wed  to  an  immortal  fate  ; 
Had  not  the  poor  man  left  my  gate, 
Had  not  the  widow  plead  in  vain, 
Would  it  have  eased  this  golden  pain, 
This  scorpion  crown  that  stings  my  brain  ? 


ALONE. 

A  LONE — 'tis  not  on  earth  to  be  alone  ; 
r^*"    All  hearts   are    sepulchers — roll    back    the 

stone  ; 

Each  haunted  chamber  echoes  to  a  tone 
Man  would   not  give,  though    buried   o'er   with 

years, 

For  all  the  music  of  yon  promised  spheres. 
Hung  like  a  star,  in  life's  divinest  space, 
He  takes  upon  his  way  some  gentle  face; 
A  deathless  face,  a  never-dying  gleam, 
That  haunts  him  like  the  music  of  a  dream. 
Ah !     love,    there    is    no    bower,    how    lorn    or 

fair, 

But  some  sweet  soul  hath  left  a  foot-print  there  ; 
There  is  no  memory  that  the  heart  reveres, 
Linked  with  this  human  tide  of  hopes  and  fears, 
But  calls  again  from  caverns  bright  or  drear, 


140  A     RHYME. 

The  one  loved  form  that  made  that  memory  dear. 
No  Lethe  rolls  within  the  human  heart, 
Graved  on  its  walls,  beyond  the  limner's  art, 
Some  treasured  picture  grave  or  gay, 
Blends  its  past  colors  with  the  present  day  ; 
These    are    the   waves,   whose    deep     sepulchral 

moan, 
Forbids  man's  heart  to  be  alone. 


A  RHYME. 

O  O  thou  lovest  not  my  rhyming, 
Wherefore  then  love  me  ? 
For  my  heart  is  but  the  chiming 
Of  the  singing  bee. 

Making  music  from  the  dancing, 
Of  the  sunbeams  on  the  wall  ; 

Happy  heart,  where  one  is  glancing, 
Brighter  than  them  all. 

Singing  where  the  stars  are  telling 

Of  the  dreamy  night; 
All  the  day  a  star  is  dwelling 

In  my  soul  and  sight. 


EVELEEN.  141 

If  thou  lovest  not  my  rhyming, 

Wherefore  then  love  me  ? 
For  my  heart  is  but  the  chiming 

Of  the  singing  bee. 


EVELEEK 

T  IKE  the  soft  and  silvery  rhymes, 

•***        Floating  through  my  brain, 
Like  the  golden-throated  chimes, 

Heard  and  lost  again. 
So  she  dawned  upon  my  sight, 

Floating  seventeen, 
Golden-haired  and  laughing  sprite, 

Joyous  Eveleen. 

Wherefore  came  she  with  her  laughter. 

Looking  in  my  eyes, 
'Till  my  soft  heart  followed  after, 

Loading  her  with  sighs  ? 
When  I  touched  her  fairy  finger, 

Sighing  love's  farewell, 
Wherefore  did  she  bid  me  linger, 

Who  can  tell? 


142  WHERE    ART     THOU? 

Memory  holds  her  with  the  rhymes. 

Floating  round  my  path, 
While  the  golden-throated  chimes, 

Echo  back  her  laugh. 
O,  that  path  is  short  and  dreary, 

Leading  where  the  graves  are  green, 
And  one  lonely  heart  is  weary, 

Faithless  Eveleen. 


WHERE    ART    THOU? 

TTyTHERE  art  thou  ?    Strange  it  seems, 

This  silent  spot ; 
All  things  that  lived  within  our  dreams 

o 

Whilst  thou  art  not. 
Where  art  thou  ?     I  fold  my  hands 

Upon  the  air ; 
My  spirit  waits,  like  one  who  stands 

Bowed  with  a  prayer. 

Waits  for  the  shadow  of  a  face, 

Wrapt  in  my  heart, 
Which  comes  no  more,  yet  from  its  place 

Will  not  depart. 
Begone,  thou  past,  that  spoils  my  day, 

With  vain  regret, 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.         143 

Teach  me  to  put  old  things  away, 
I  would  forget. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

TT  was  a  pleasant  house,  built  in  the  olden  time, 
An  hundred  trees  around  it,  all  standing  in 
their  prime,  . 

With  long  and  pleasant  galleries,  where  the  chil- 
dren used  to  play, 

With  quiet  nooks  and  corners,  to  hide  themselves 
away. 

It  seemeth  but  a  dream,  a  vision  of  the  night, 
The  dying  wife  and  mother,  who  faded  from  our 

sight; 

But  like  a  star  of  Heaven — a  memory  in  my  life, 
Is  the  beautiful  Ernanie — John  Alpin's  second  wife. 

The  beautiful    Ernanie,   the    young    and    happy 

bride, 

Who  knew  ,so  well  to  love,  yet  never  knew  to  chide, 
The  golden  haired  Ernanie,  to   loving  hearts  so 

dear, 
Who    brought    within    her    pleasant    home,  the 

shadow  and  the  fear. 


i44         THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE 

The  shadow  of  the  dead  that  glided  every  where, 

That  crept  within  the  galleries,  and  floated  in  the 
air, 

The   shadow   of   the   dead,   the  pale   unwelcome 
guest, 

That  hushed   our   childish  merriment,  the    dead, 
that  would  not  rest. 

i 

The   summer   winds   were  dying,  and  the  merry 
leaves  were  dead, 

And  darker  grew  the   darkness,  around   the  cur- 
tained bed, 

While  busy  tongues   were  prating,  and  the  shud- 
dering air  grew  rife, 

With  a  woeful  tale  of  horror,  a  wronged  and  mur- 
dered wife. 

John  Alpin's  cheek  grew  paler,  with  every  passing 

hour, 
For  the  beautiful  Ernanie,  who   faded  like   the 

flower, 

For  the  beautiful  Ernanie,  who  faded  by  his  side, 
The  dying  from  the  dead,  John  Alpin  bore  his 

bride. 

It  is  a  lonely  house,  a  relic  of  the  past, 
The   trees   are   dead  around   it,  as   riven  by  the 
blast; 


SABBA  TARIANISM.  1 45 

The  long  and  pleasant  galleries,  where  the  chil- 
dren used  to  play, 

With  their  quiet  nooks  and  corners,  have  fallen  to 
decay. 

But    at   the   dead   of  night   the   country   people 

round, 
Still  listen  while  they  pass,  for  a  low  and  wailing 

sound; 
For  the  shadow  that  is  flitting,  the  pale  unwelcome 

guest, 
The  shadow  of  the  dead — the  dead  that  cannot 

rest. 


SABBATARIANISM. 


IITERCHANT,  o'er  the  ledger  bending, 
-^ *-*~     Men  of  action,  men  of  leisure; 
Wheresoe'er  your  steps  are  tending, 
Madam,  with  your  leave  and  pleasure. 


There's  a  gospel  in  the  gamut, 
Nature's  song  to  weary  men; 

From  the  world-sphere  of  the  planet, 
To  the  cowslip,  in  the  glen. 
10 


146  SABBATARIANISM. 

There's  a  gospel  dimly  lying, 
Sin-incrusted  'neath  your  eye, 

Fan  it,  madam,  lest  in  dying, 
It  proclaim  your  faith  a  lie. 

Six  days  with  a  thought  unswerving, 
Bowing  down  to  gods  of  clay, 

Six  days  time  and  mammon  serving, 
'Till  the  locks  and  heart  are  gray  ; 

One  day  of  the  teeming  seven, 
Kneeling  in  a  cushioned  pew, 

Never  yet  hath  won  the  Heaven, 
Promised  to  the  just  and  true. 

God,  we  praise  Thee,  in  high  places, 
And  proclaim  thy  name  aloud, 

Sanctified  our  hearts  and  faces, 
By  thy  special  grace  endowed. 

Thankful  we  are  not  as  these, 

Who  thy  Sabbath  laws  o'erthrow, 

Thus,  spake  out  the  Pharisees, 
Eighteen  hundred  years  ago. 

Answered  one,  whose  word  shall  live, 
When  the  reeling  worlds  decay, 

"  Get  ye  hence,  your  lips  ye  give, 
When  your  hearts  are  far  away." 


EVELYN    CLARE.  147 

Answered  one,  whose  humblest  ways, 

Not  the  purest  life  shall  span, 
"Man  is  Lord  of  Sabbath  days, 

For  the  day  was  made  for  man." 

Blessed  be  the  church  external, 

May  its  ancient  pillars  stand, 
Fettering  not  the  gift  eternal, 

Freedom,  in  a  freeman's  land. 

Trust  me,  at  as  pure  an  altar 

Where  the  million  anthems  sound, 

There  are  steps  which  shall  not  falter, 
Free-will  offerings  shall  abound. 

God  is  present  Here  and  There, 

And  his  church  is  in  all  space ; 
While  the  pure  and  honest  prayer 

Finds,  alone,  the  Throne  of  Grace. 


EVELYN  CLARE. 

T7VELYN  Clare  will  soon  be  wed. 
-^         Time,  that  bears  upon  its  wing, 
Tears  that  some  bright  eye  shall  shed, 
Brings  Evelyn  Clare  a  gay,  gold  ring. 


i48  EVELYN    CLARE. 

Hearts  have  prayed  from  morn  'till  night, 
Hands  have  toiled  for  Evelyn  Clare  ; 

Like  the  lily,  pure  and  white, 
Is  the  robe  that  she  will  wear. 

Earthly  pleasures  throng  her  way, 
Gold  and  silver  is  her  dower  ; 

And  her  face,  the  gossips  say, 
Rivals  Nature's  fairest  flower. 

Across  the  street  lives  Edith  Muir, 
She  hath  neither  wealth  nor  fame  ; 

But  the  sad — the  meek — the  pure, 
Rain  down  blessings  on  her  name. 

She's  not  much  of  outward  grace, 
But  the  world  some  hearts  can  show, 

Who  have  seen  the  inner  face 
That  the  holy  angels  know. 

Earthly  bridegroom  may  not  press 
Hand  of  thine,  sweet  Edith  Muir, 

Yet  for  thee  a  bridal  dress 

Waits,  whose  threads  are  firm  and  sure, 

Worldly  fashion,  seam  nor  fold, 
Ne'er  can  make  nor  mar  its  worth  ; 

It  hath  neither  dross  nor  gold, 
Neither  trick  nor  stain  of  earth. 


HOPE    LIES    BENEATH.          149 

Gay  gold  ring,  and  orange-wreath, 

Hope  of  the  fond  and  fair  ; 
No  heart  can  tell  what  lies  beneath 

Your  joys  for  Evelyn  Clare. 

Heavenly  Bridegroom  !  worlds  may  fail, 

But  Thy  promise  must  endure  ; 
Where  the  joys  of  Heaven  prevail, 

Waits  the  robe  of  Edith  Muir. 


HOPE    LIES    BENEATH    THEM    ALL. 


"V^OU  have  heard  the  legend,  oft-times  told 

A  legend,  famous  as  'tis  old  — 
When  sin  first  drew  its  hated  breath, 
When  mortal  life  was  cursed  with  death  ; 
The  pitying  gods  conceived  the  plan 
To  send  their  gifts  to  fallen  man. 

He  took  the  casket  wrapped  in  clay, 
Where  many  a  heaven-born  jewel  lay  ; 
From  love's  bright  wings  he  shook  the  dust  ; 
He  bathed  his  soul  in  faith  and  trust  ; 
With  eager  haste,  he  grasped  the  fame 
That  gilds  full  many  an  honored  name. 
But  all  in  vain  —  so  runs  the  tale  — 


150  THE    DEVIDS     VISIT. 

Man  knew  the  sparkling  gems  would  pale  ; 
He  knew,  too  well,  that  earth's  alloy 
Must  dim,  ere  long,  each  radiant  joy. 
But  who  shall  tell  the  rapture  wild, 
That  thrilled  his  heart  (earth's  sorrowing  child) ; 
That  took  the  sting  from  out  the  pain, 
That  gave  him  his  lost  Heaven  again, 
Responding  to  his  spirit's  call  ? 
'Twas  hope — sweet  hope — that  lay  beneath  them 
all. 

O,  well  the  gods,  since  time  began 
Have  kept  the  promise,  made  to  man, 
For  love  may  die,  and  worldly  strife 
May  dim  the  fairest  gift  in  life ; 
Tho'  earth's  best  joys  shall  fade  away, 
Look  up,  poor  heart !  'tis  for  a  day  ; 
The  sigh  may  rise,  the  tear  may  fall ; 
But  hope  still  lies  beneath  them  all. 


THE  DEVIL'S  VISIT. 

^'T^IS  fifty  years  or  thereabout, 

I  don't  exactly  know  the  time  ; 
Nor  can  I  tell  you  by  what  route 
The  Devil  left  his  sultry  clime  ; 


THE    DEVILS     VISIT.  151 

When  by  some  sudden  freak  or  chance, 
He  stepped  from  Moscow  into  France, 
From  thence,  so  runs  poetic  lore, 
Unto  Great  Britain's  humid  shore — 

You'll  find  it  all  in  Byron's  rhyme  ; 
I've  naught  to  do  with  ancient  lays, 

And  if  I  call  unto  your  mind, 
This  little  fact  of  former  days  ; 

'Tis  that,  I  know  you'll  be  inclined 
To  doubt  my  song,  so  with  my  own 
A  poet's  evidence  is  thrown : 
For  what  hath  been,  we  all  do  know, 
May  be  again,  as  I  will  show. 

A  week  to-day,  the  air  was  cold. 

Now  where  there's  such  a  "stress  of  weather" 
The  Ice  King  is  abroad,  we're  told. 

I  cannot  tell  if  foul  or  fair 

The  habits  of  this  king  of  air  ;  • 

But  truth  to  say, 

Upon  that  day 

Some  things  were  sadly  mixed  together ; 
For,  by  the  winds  which  then  did  roar, 
And,  but  I'll  not  waste  a  simile, 

The  day  was  cold,  as  cold  can  be  ; 

You  might  have  thought  the  Arctic  sea 
Had  rolled  its  waters  to  our  shore. 


IS  2  THE    DEVIDS     VISIT. 

'Twas  on  that  day,  the  Devil  said, 
"I  have  a  leisure  hour  or  two, 

And,  as  so  many  years  have  fled 
Since  of  yon  earth  I've  had  a  view, 
I'll  take  this  hour  I  have  to  spare, 
And  try,  I  think,  a  change  of  air  ; 
Not  that  my  aid  is  needed  there, 

For  since  the  fire  which  men  call  sin 

One  mundane  heart  was  kindled  in, 
I've  kept  my  agents  there  to  fan  it ; 

And,  by  my  realm,  so  leal  are  they, 

So  strong  the  tide  has  set  this  way, 

That  if  discomfort  we'd  allay 

I  must  annex  some  neighboring  planet." 

The  Devil  smiled  a  smile  so  grim 
It  made  the  imps  about  him  quake, 

It  lit  each  cavern,  vast  and  dim, 
And  played  like  fire  upon  the  lake  ; 

The  one  where  Charon  ferries  o'er 

The  souls  that  flock  upon  that  shore. 

*  "  Bring  forth  my  suit  of  bottle-green." 
The  suit  was  brought,  his  valet's  hand 

— Such  nimble  one  was  never  seen 
In  this  or  any  other  land — 

Arrayed  him  in  the  latest  mode 

That's  known  to  swells  in  that  abode  ; 

"  I'm  sick,"  he  said,  "  of  Europe's  broils, 


THE    DEVI ES     VISIT:  153 

Her  vulgar  thefts,  her  petty  spoils, 

Her  tyrants,  and  her  kings  ; 
Each  day  she  but  repeats  her  toils  ; 
Like  ancient  Job,  she's  full  of  boils, 

And  to  her  misery  clings  ; 
I'll  none  of  her,  'twill  light  my  cares 
To  see  how  my  Republic  fares  ; 
As  time  is  short — a  famous  pity — 
I'll  land  at  once,  in  the  Empire  City." 

No  sooner  said  than  it  was  done. 

A  moment  since  his  valet  brushed 
One  of  those  coals  which  good  men  shun, 

Whose  living  fire  cannot  be  crushed 

More  than  the  sun, 
From  out  his  path,  the  next — here  fails  my  lore; 

Don't  ask  me,  pray  ! 
No  mortal  soul  could  see  the  door 

Thro'  which  he  entered  on  Broadway. 

Now  if  he  stood  a  moment  there, 
With  something  very  like  a  stare 

Upon  his  swarthy  face, 
You  inust  admit  the  scene  was  strange  ; 
The  climate,  too,  was  quite  a  change 

From  that  more  favored  place — 

You  know  the  name  ! 
Indeed  the  first  thing  that  he  did, 


i54  THE    DEVIL'S     VISIT. 

His  hands  were  in  his  pockets  slid, 
And  nothing  but  his  hoofs  were  seen, 
As  he  passed  on  in  bottle-green, 
To  tell  from  whence  he  came. 

Now  left  and  right,  and  up  and  down, 
He  marks  the  beauties  of  the  town. 
Thro'  brick  and  mortar  he  can  look, 
And  read,  as  in  an  open  book ; 
Full  oft  before  his  eyes  appear 
Famine,  and  cold,  with  naught  to  cheer  ; 
And  something  very  like  a  tear 

Within  his  eye  doth  shine. 
He  sees  the  hand  the  needle  ply, 
He  marks  the  heart  that  once  beat  high 

As  yours  or  mine  ; 
A  moment  more,  and  in  a  trice 

He  brushed  that  tear  away, 
He  sees  the  work,  and  marks  the  price  — 

Ten  cents  a  day. 
"  Now,  by  my  head,"  he  quickly  said, 

"  I  bless  that  man,  alive  or  dead, 
Who,  out  of  woman's  tears  and  pains, 

Hath  counted,  or  doth  count  his  gains ; 
For  him  my  hottest  fires  shall  glow, 

My  highest  gifts  I  will  bestow 
On  such  a  faithful  soul ; 

And  if  within  my  kingdom  lies 


THE    DEVIL'S     VISIT.  155 

One  of  those  crypts  which  men  do  prize, 
Men  who  on  earth  would  upward  rise 

To  taste  the  flavor  of  the  skies  ; 
If  in  my  realm  of  sombre  light 

I've  one  to  match  their  proudest  height 
He's  won  the  goal." 

Then  blithe  and  gay 
Ad  own  Broadway, 
He  stopped  not,'  'till  his  eye  did  fall 
Upon  the  front  of  City  Hall  ; 
A  smile  lit  up  his  swarthy  face 
For,  truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  place 

Well  known  in  his  abode. 
"Ah,  well !"  he  said,  "I'm  sorrow-proof  ; 

But  could  I  pity, 
One  sigh  I'd  breathe  beneath  yon  roof 

For  this  poor  city. 
I  must  be  careful  of  my  land 
When  such  as  these  do  touch  the  strand." 
Still  on  he  strode. 
Wall  street  he  saw, 
He  eye'd  it  o'er 
From  Broadway  to  the  water. 
He  saw  the  bulls,  he  saw  the  bears, 
He  said,  "  I  too,  do  own  some  shares  ; 
But  on  a  nearer  view, 


156  THE     DEVIL^S     VISIT. 

I  fear,  my  friends,  like  your  own  wares, 

My  stock  is  bogus  too. 
This  light,  like  my  own  kingdom  glares, 
I  fear  a  place  so  full  of  snares, 

I'll  try  some  other  quarter." 

'Twas  a  gayer  scene — a  gayer  crowd, 
Where  'mid  the  wealthy  and  the  proud 

He  took  his  way. 

The  Gothic  structures  of  the  town, 
The  stately  mansions,  red  and  brown 

Before  him  lay. 
He  saw  the  carriages  roll  by, 
The  liveried  servants  pleased  his  eye, 
He  saw  the  pomp,  the  show,  the  style, 
And  once  again  did  Satan  smile, 
"'Tis  well!"  he  said. 
And  here  he  shook  his  wicked  head, 
For,  ah  !  'twas  not  this  scene  alone 
His  eye  looked  on — as  has  been  shown, 
All  thoughts — all  hearts  to  him  were  known, 
He  saw  the  price  so  often  paid, 
The  ruined  lives,  the  trust  betrayed. 
He  saw  the  mire  through  which  we  wade, 
We,  who  at  any  price  would  hold 
The  precious  stuff,  which  men  call  gold. 
With  something  'tween  a  sneer  and  stare, 
These  muttered  words  fell  on  the  air — 


THE    DEVIL'S     VISIT.  15 

"  Old  Rome  was  slow  ; 
Not  so 

The  pace  at  which  you  go, 
My  young  Republic, — I  like  your  gait, 
And  for  the  end — why,  I  can  wait." 

With  quickened  step — he  gazed  around  ; 
He  paused — 'twas  consecrated  ground  ; 
He  marked  a  crowd,  which  greater  grew, 
He  saw  the  door  which  they  passed  through, 
And  to  his  shameless  instincts  true, 
He  said,  "I'll  take  an  inner  view." 

Alas  !  alas,  that  such  a  hoof 
Should  enter  'neath  a  sacred  roof. 

Perhaps  it  was  some  holy  day  ; 

I  cannot  tell,  I  cannot  say 

If  it  was  sermon,  song  or  prayer, 

I  only  know  he  entered  there. 

No  doubt  he  first  surveyed  the  place, 

And  then  the  beauty  and  the  grace, 

Jewels  and  silks,  with  gleam  and  glow, 

Made  to  his  eyes  a  pretty  show. 

He  marked  the  wealth,  the  style,  the  art, 

And  then,  alas  !  he  marked  the  heart ; 

"  A  cheat,  a  cheat !"  the  Devil  cried, 

"My  friends,  the  Spirit  I  defied 


158  EPIGRAMS. 

Holds  in  abhorrence  carnal  pride, 

— This  is  my  horse  which  you  do  ride." 

He  vanished,  but  with  such  a  yell, 
Twas  like  the  last,  the  final  knell 
Of  which  the  poets  tell, 
When  Gabriel's  hand  shall  ring  the  chime 
Which  ushers  out  departing  time. 


EPIGRAMS. 

i 

ON   SNEERING. 

'TWO  symbols  of  woe  in  our  world  have  birth, 
One  for  the  dead,  that  have  passed  from 

the  earth. 

This  outward  death,  on  our  arm  we  pin, 
But  the  sneer,  is  the  badge  of  the  death  within. 


/CHRIST  gave  his  life  that  man  might  live ; 
^     I  weep  not  o'er  thy  sod ; 
Who  gives  to  man  what  man  may  give, 
Reigns  nearest  unto  God. 


TO     OUR    COUSINS.  159 


TO  OUR  COUSINS,  OVER  THE  WATER 

0  O  John,  I  hear  you've  got  the  spleen, 

You  grumble,  groan,  and  stew, 
Bewailing  o'er  that  saucy  rogue — 
Yankee-Doodle-do. 

With  my  respects,  across  the  wave, 
I  send  this  anodyne, 

1  trust  'twill  ease  your  shaken  nerves, 

And  brace  your  ailing  spine. 

Altho'  we're  but  an  infant,  John, 

Don't  trouble  'bout  our  colic  ; 
For  that's  a  thing,  between  ourselves, 

To  fan  our  flame  historic  ! 

We'll  hold  our  own,  with  something  more 

If  need — for  restitution — 
While  neither  cramps,  nor  colic,  John, 

Can  break  our  Constitution. 

Of  soldiers,  ah  !  no  given  space 

Can  such  a  harvest  yield, 
And  to  calm  your  agitation,  John, 

They  are  ready  for  a  field. 


160  RALLY    FOR    IRELAND. 

In  short,  we  have  the  biggest  land, 

The  biggest  rivers  flowing, 
The  biggest  trees,  the  biggest  fields, 

Where  the  biggest  crops  are  growing  ; 
We  have  the  brightest  lips  and  eyes, 

That  ever  yet  were  glowing  ; 
The  biggest  hearts,  the  biggest  souls 

Of  any  of  Heaven's  bestowing  ; 
And  when  a  squabble  suits  our  mood, 

The  biggest  one  that's  going ; 
And  when  we've  done  some  trifling  things, 

As  we  shall  soon  be  showing, 
You'll  hear  us,  John,  across  the  wave  ; — 

We'll  do  the  biggest  crowing. 

Of  domestic  Bulls  we've  had  a  few ; 

We  let  them  rage  and  foam  ; 
But  foreign  Bulls,  (mind,  John,) 

Had  better  stop  at  home. 


RALLY  FOR  IRELAND. 


T>  ALLY  for  Ireland  !  fling  out  the  green  flag 

Till  its  name  grows  a  terror  on  land  and  on 
sea  ; 


RALLY    FOR    IRELAND.  161 

From  upland,  from  lowland, .  from  headland  and 

crag, 
Let  it  float  to  the  breeze  'till  old  Ireland  is  free  ! 

Drown  with  your  trumpets  the  coward's  alarms  ; 

Stand  by  your  colors,  though  dark  clouds  may 

lower. 
Hark  !  o'er  the  sea  comes  the  cry  of  "  To  arms  ! " 

Men  of  old  Ireland,  now  is  your  hour  ! 

By  the  songs  which  her  bards  o'er  her  cradle  have 

sung; 
By  the  deeds  which  her  heroes  have  writ  with 

the  sword  ; 
By  the  heartbreaking  tears  which  oppression  hath 

wrung  ; 

By  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  for  the  land  they 
adored ; 

Rally  for  Ireland  !    Stand  forth  in  your  might  ; 

With  your  eyes  on  yon  flag,  may  it  never  be  said 
That  the  brave  sons  of  Erin  withdrew  from  the 

fight 

Till  its  emerald  folds  waved  over  the  red  ! 

O  !  the  spirit  of  Emmet  breathes  out  on  the  air, 
And  the  soul  of  O'Connell  looks  down  from  the 
skies  ; 
11 


T62          THE     GOOD     OLD    DAYS. 

One  points  to  the  deeds  which  oppression  may  dare, 
And  one  to  the  goal  where  liberty  lies. 

Then  up  !  'tis  the  path  that  your  forefathers  trod  ! 

Like  the  dawn  in  the  East,  I  see  the  first  ray 
Of  the  sun  whose  beams,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 

Shall  burst  through  the  clouds  that  are  darken- 
ing your  way. 

And  oh  !  may  Columbia  remember  the  land 

Whose  sons  in  her  peril  were  foremost  and  true, 

Upholding  her  banner  with  heart  and  with  hand, 
We  will  twine  the   green  folds  with  the  red, 
white  and  blue. 

Rally  for  Ireland  !  fling  out  the  green  flag, 

Till  its  name  grows  a  terror  on  land  and  on  sea  ; 

From  upland,  from  lowland,   from  headland  and 

crag, 
Let  it  float  to  the  breeze  'till  old  Ireland  is  free. 


ALAS,    FOB    THE    GOOD    OLD    DAYS. 

A  LAS,  for  the  good  old  days  ! 
-^^         The  good  old  days  of  yore  ! 
My  country — fittest  theme  for  praise — 


THE    GOOD     OLD    DAYS.          163 

When  thy  young  brow  was  crowned  with  bays, 
When  monarchs  trembled  at  thy  gaze  ; 
Alas,  for  the  good  old  days  ! 

The  good  old  days  of  yore, 

Four  years  ago,  or  more. 

The  moonlight  trembles  on  the  hill 

As  in  the  good  old  days  ; 

As  tranquilly  its  peaceful  rays 
Fall  on  the  crazy  water-mill, 
Light  up  the  torrent  and  the  rill, 
And  brighten  all  my  window-sill, 
With  thoughts  that  once  my  soul  could  fill. 
But  I've  no  dream  of  wanton  rills, 
No  talk  to-night,  for  the  noisy  mills, 
Only  my  country's  woes  and  ills, 
The  flag  that  floats  on  an  hundred  hills, 

And  if  I  watch  the  moon's  pale  rays, 

'Tis  but  to  sigh  for  the  good  old  days, 
The  good  old  days  of  yore, 
Four  years  ago,  or  more. 

How  proudly  then  I  walked  this  sward, 

Saluting  on  yon  crag, 
As  next  in  majesty  to  God, 

Fair  Freedom's  fairest  flag, 
Ere  deeds  that  dyed  my  cheeks  with  shame 
Were  written  there  in  Freedom's  name — 


164          THE     GOOD     OLD    DAYS. 

Ere  I  had  learned  the  tearful  lay, 
"  A  little  rule,  a  little  sway," 
Is  more  in  man's  degenerate  day, 
Than  Freedom's  boasted  fame. 

O  moon  so  fair,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

Go  forth,  sweet  moon,  go  forth  to-night, 

Attend  my  spirit's  cry  ; 
O  let  thy  glowing  fingers  write, 
On  faithless  hearts,  in  letters  white, 

A  mandate  from  the  sky  ; 
Go  seek  the  hearts  now  wrapped  in  power, 
Bid  them  be  tender  of  the  flower 
Bequeathed  our  land,  the  costly  dower 

Of  eighty  years  ago  ; 
Go  seek  the  hearts  where  worldly  pelf, 
Where  love  of  gain  and  love  of  self, 

Have  wrought  a  deeper  woe  ; 
O  moon,  sweet  moon,  thou  dost  behold 
Yon  flag  ;  write  treason  on  the  gold 
That  hath  betrayed  one  azure  fold  ; 
Go  forth,  oh  moon,  my  words  are  weak, 
But  thou  art  strong,  go  forth  and  speak  ; 
But  if  thou  find'st  some  blessed  spot 
Where  patriots  dwell,  where  mammon  is  not, 
There  rest  thy  moonbeams,  silent,  deep — 
There  bid  the  holy  angels  keep 
Sweet  vigils  o'er  the  just  one's  sleep. 


RAISING    A     REGIMENT.          165 

Farewell,  sweet  moon,  I  kiss  thy  rays, 
I  bid  thee  speed,  for  the  good  old  days, 

The  good  old  days  of  yore, 
When  every  song  was  a  song  of  praise, 
When  this  fair  land  was  crowned  with  bays, 
When  monarchs  trembled  at  her  gaze. 
Alas,  for  the  good  old  days ! 

The  good  old  days  of  yore, 

Four  years  ago,  or  more. 


RAISING  A  REGIMENT. 

T)  AISING  a  regiment — so  I  am, 
^     You  had  better  believe — it  is  no  sham; 

A  regiment,  friends,  for  Uncle  Sam. 

A  step  from  Haughwout's  costly  pile 

From  the  noisy  dash,  and  stately  style, 
Read  the  card  on  the  open  door, 
See — "  business  hours,  from  ten  to  four." 

Fair  woman,  leave  your  worldly  graces, 

Leave  your  ribbons,  jewels,  laces; 

Hear  the  song  of  the  swelling  chimes, 

Step  to  the  music — step  to  the  times — 

Now's  the  hour  to  throw  your  name 

In  the  topmost  niche  of  the  Temple  of  Fame  ; 


1 66         RAISING    A     REGIMENT. 

Out  of  the  dark,  who'll  try  for  the  mark 
A  seat,  by  the  side,  Jeanne  d'Arc  ; 
Raising  a  regiment,  yes,  it  is  true, 
A  regiment,  friends,  that's  bound  to  go  thro'; 
That  never  will  run,  nor  shirk,  nor  sue. 
Womanly  hearts,  in  town  or  glen, 
Send  your  mite,  a  one,  or  a  ten, 
Nothing  is  contraband  but  men. 

The  World,  not  the  one  old  Atlas  bears, 
Full  of  its  crotchets,  quirks,  and  cares  ; 
Not  this  world,  nor  the  other,  I  deem, 
Of  which  in  our  sorrow,  we  always  dream, 
But  a  "  World,"  that's  born  of  type  and  steam, 
The  one  you  sip,  with  your  coffee  and  cream, 
Hath  dared  to  say,  in  your  peaceful  sky, 
The  sun  hath  set,  the  day  gone  by, 
When  women  were  strong,  to  do,  or  die  ; 

I  throw  my  glove, 

No  carrier  dove, 

Defiantly  hurled, 

At  the  feet  of  "  The  World."* 

Poor  formal  hearts,  we've  crossed  your  Styx, 
Hurrah,  for  the  spirit  of  Seventy-Six  ! 

*  The  ''World"  newspaper,  on  one  occasion,  expressed 
the  conviction  that,  in  these  days,  there  were  no  women 
to  the  crisis. 


RAISING    A     REGIMENT.          167 

Point  us  the  Marat,  a  tyrant's  that's  willed, 
To  sit  in  the  chair,  that  Washington  filled. 

By  all  we  prize, 

The  flowers  below,  and  the  stars  above, 
We  swear,  by  the  hearts  that  are  ours  to  love, 

Your  Charlotte  Corday  shall  arise. 

Some  things  that  were  have  passed  away ; 

Who  careth  a  tithe  for  the  poet's  lay  ? 

And  a  lover,  alas  !  is  a  pitiful  elf, 

When  Cupid  himself  is  laid  on  the  shelf, — 

For  the  ring  of  the  world,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Is  a  martial  ring,  the  clangor  of  war. 

Raising  a  regiment,  that's  not  to  wait 

For  the  fiat  abroad  nor  the  sanction  of  State, 

That  hath  not  in  its  plan  a  beneficent  man, — 

Benefactor  or  Pastor, 

Contractor  or  Master, 

To  furnish  recruits  with  Government  suits, 
Impervious  quite,  from  hat  to  boots  ! 
No  political  credit  nor  worldly  position, 
Can  buy,  in  our  ranks,  a  single  commission  ; 
But  merit  alone — the  star  we  adore — 
Is  the  wonderful  sesame  that  opens  the  door, 

In  council,  camp  and  field. 
Forward — march — the  hour  hath  come, 
When  the  sound  of  the  fife  and  the  call  of  the 
drum, 


i68          RAISING    A     REGIMENT. 

Hath  music  more  sweet  to  stir  up  the  heart, 
Than  all  the  bravados  or  vauntings  of  art. 
Forward — march— in  Lincoln  green  ; 
Our  rifles  are  sharp,  our  blades  are  keen  ; 
Forward — march — we'll  face  the  foe  ; 
We'll  strike  their  colors,  and  lay  them  low ; 
With  hands  all  steady,  and  hearts  a-glow, 

That  never  were  born  to  yield. 
And  we  solemnly  vow,  by  the  soul  of  Mars, 
That    whenever   we've   planted    our    stripes   and 

stars, 
In  city  or  dale,  in  village  or  vale, 

Not  proud  of  our  fame  or  booty, 
We'll  not  march  back,  to  be  feted  and  praised, 
And  dream  the  world  must  stand  amazed, 

Because  we  did  our  duty  ; 
But  onward  press,  o'er  mountain  and  lea, 
As  long  as  there  floats,  from  staff  or  tree, 
A  rebel  flag,  in  the  land  of  the  free. 

Alas !  secesh, 

What  a  terrible  mesh  ! 
What  a  rent  in  a  great  balloon 
That  was  sailing  on,  in  a  regal  noon, 
That  laughed  at  brackets,  at  props,  and  bars, 
And  thought,  full  soon,  to  reach  the  stars, 

Or  the  sun,  perhaps  ! 
O  !  air  and  ether,  gas  and  vapor, 


RAISING    A     REGIMENT.          169 

Jupiter  Ammon,  Canis  Major, 
What  a  collapse  ! 

I  groan  with  pain, — 

St.  Domingo's  gone  to  Spain  ; 
Mexico,  it  is  sung,  or  said, 
The  soil  on  which  our  heroes  bled, 
Where  loving  thoughts  still  wander, 
Is  soon  to  be,  if  royal  throats  may  thus  agree, 
Cut  up,  and  served,-  in  slices  three, 

Like  any  goose  or  gander. 

Shade  of  Monroe,  rise  from  thy  grave, 
And  throw  thy  arm  across  the  wave, — 
Tell  to  the  scorners,  in  their  scorn, 
'Twere  better  they  had  not  been  born 
Than  touch  with  sacrilegious  hand 
The  smallest  fibre  in  the  land  ; 
That  Uncle  Sam  shall  yet  arise, 
Triumphant  as  the  glorious  skies, 
When  some  dark  cloud  of  wind  and  rain 
Hath  swept  the  valley,  cleared  the  plain, 
And  the  golden  sun  shines  forth  again ! 

Raising  a  regiment — yes,  it  is  true, 
That  is,  waiting  recruits — and  a  captain  or  two. 
Forward — to  fight  for  the  land  we  adore, 
In  a  regiment,  friends,  that's  in  for  the  war. 


170    RING  OF  THE  SUTLERS  WIFE. 


THE    RING    OF    THE    SUTLER'S   WIFE. 


is  the  price  of  that  ring  ?  she  said  ; 
The  man  at  the  counter  raised  his  head. 
Never  before  had  the  woman's  face 
Darken'd  the  door  of  that  princely  place. 
The  man  at  the  counter  opened  the  case, 
He  took  the  gem  from  its  regal  bed  ; 
"  A  thousand  dollars  for  the  ring,"  he  said. 

I  saw  the  Treasury  notes  unroll'd, 

A  thousand  dollars  counted  and  told  ; 

O,  the  man  at  the  counter  thought  he  had  sold 

A  diamond  ring  for  the  figure  it  bore, 

A  thousand  dollars,  and  nothing  more. 

I  knew  the  notes,  foul  with  the  stamp 

Of  the  sutler's  toils  in  tent  and  camp  ; 

I  knew  the  notes,  foul  with  the  stain 

Of  the  sutler's  toils  on  field  and  plain  — 

The  Treasury  notes,  with  the  curse  of  the  slain, 

That  the  lack  and  need  of  a  soldier's  life 

Paid  for  the  ring  of  the  sutler's  wife. 

O,  the  man  at  the  counter  held  the  gem, 
Would  grace  the  costliest  diadem 
That  ever  clasped  its  pearls  of  light 


THE     OLD     FLAG.  171 

On  some  fair  brow,  as  proudly  bright — 

A  royal  diamond,  pure  and  white  ; 

I  saw  the  ring  on  the  woman's  hand, 

The  costly  ring,  the  jeweled  band, 

That  flashed  the  shame  of  my  native  land, 

And  it  seemed  as  a  breath,  like  a  poisonous  air, 

Passed  over  the  gem  once  bright  and  fair, 

And  left  a  flaw  forever  there — 

A  fatal  flaw,  flagrant  and  rife 

With  pelf  and  profit,  sin  and  strife 

In  the  diamond  ring  of  the  sutler's  wife. 


THE    OLD    FLAG. 

Five  hundred  soldiers — mostly  from  New  York  Regi- 
ments— were  sent  from  Richmond  to  the  jail  at  Tuscaloosa. 
These  men,  amidst  privation  and  suffering,  kept  up  their 
spirits,  and  when  they  started  for  Tuscaloosa,  astonished 
Richmond  by  bursting  out  in  the  spirit-stirring  chorus  of 
the  "  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

victorious  banner  was  waving  on  high, 
No  triumph  of  battle  was  theirs  to  relate  ; 
!N~o  shouting  of  victory  went  up  to  the  sky, 

As  from  bondage  to  bondage  they  marched  to 

their  fate. 

While  they  struck  the  bold  anthem,  plain,  moun- 
tain and  strand 


172  THE    OLD    FLAG. 

He-echoed  once  more  to  the  song  of  our  land — 
u'Tis  the  Star  Spangled  Banner,  O  long   may  it 

wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free,   and  the   home  of   the 

brave." 

Did  they  think  of  the  home,  where  that  pennant 

so  gay, 
Was    waving,    o'er   valley,   o'er   mountain    and 

wold? 

Did  they  think  of  the  hosts  that  are  marshall'd  to- 
day, 

To  wipe  the  dark  stain  from  each  idolized  fold  ? 
While  the  swords  of  the  foeman  still  flashed  on 

the  air, 

Undaunted,  unawed,  'mid  oppression  and  care, 
"  O  say  does  that  Star  Spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the 
brave?" 

And  they,  who  were  mute   'neath   that   thrilling 

hosanna, 

The  proudest,  the  grandest  a  nation  may  claim, 
Was  no  pang  in  their  hearts,  at  the  thought  of 

that  banner, 
Who  had  shared  in  its  glory  and  joyed  in  its 

fame  ? 
Who  so  oft  'neath  its  folds  had  in  unison  met, 


APPEAL  TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN.  173 

O  say,  can  a  son  of  Columbia  forget  ? 
"  The  Star  Spangled  Banner,  O  long  may  it  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free,   and  the  home  of  the 
brave?" 

0  star  of  my  country,  with  a  faith  all  unbroken, 

I  watch  thy  bright  beams  as  they  dazzle  or  pale  ; 

1  know  that  the  mandate  of  God  hath  been  spoken, 

That  the  cause  of  the  free  and   the   just   shall 

prevail. 

Then  blessed  be  they,  who,  enshrined  in  thy  story, 
Have  shared  in  thy  gloom  and  shall  live  in  thy 

glory, 
"  While  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  in  triumph  shall 

wave, 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave." 


AN    APPEAL    TO    PRESIDENT    LINCOLN 

IN     BEHALF     OF     THE    FIVE    MEN    DOOMED     TO     EXE- 
CUTION   ON   THE    29TH  JANUARY,    1864. 

A  S  men  pray  for  gifts  which  are  dearest  in  life, 
^^     When  the  depths  of  the  spirit  are  stirred, 
So  I,  'rnid  the  surgings  of  tumult  arid  strife, 
Do  pray  that  my  voice  may  be' heard. 


174  APPEAL  TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

Who  kneel  for  the  souls  that    are  doomed  unto 
death, 

Kneel  'midst  the  legions  of  valiant  and  brave. 
Kneel  'midst  the  armies  awaiting  thy  breath, 

Give  chance  to  the  boys  for  a  nobler  grave. 

Save,  for  the  sake  of  the  mothers  who  bore  them  ; 
Spare,   for  the   sake  of   the  flag  that  floats  o'er 

them  ; 

A  merciful  deed  is  a  God-like  hosanna, 
Which   bringeth   no   stain   to   the   Star-Spangled 

Banner. 

Oh  !  pardon,  the  dream  of  a  mother's  pale  face  ; 

The    hunger   and    thirst    for  some    beckoning 

hand  ; 
The  heart-sick  yearning  for  the  dear  old  place, 

Too  strong  for  the  soul  to  withstand. 
Who  knoweth  what  memories,  fatal  and  bright, 

O'er  the  heart  of  the  soldier  may  creep — 
May  muffle  the  drum,  blot  out  from  his  sight, 

The  trust  he  has  sworn  to  keep. 

Save,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  that  is  in  them  ; 
Spare,  for  the  hope  that  sweet  mercy  may  win 

them 

To  fight  the  good  fight.    Oh  !  plant  the  great  seed 
That  may  blossom  for  us,  in  this  day  of  our  need. 


APPEAL  TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN.  175 

In  a  tear-stricken  home  some  mother,  heart- 
broken, 

Is  kneeling  for  strength  to  the  God  of  the  true  ; 
Some  wife  of  the  doomed,  with  terror  unspoken, 

Thro'  eyes  that  are  faded,  is  looking  to  you. 
Some  father,  alas  !  where  the  old  flag  is  flying, 
Who  singeth  a  psalm  that  "  God's  will  may  be 

done," 

While   clasping   the   colors,  with   love  that's   un- 
dying, 
Is  kneeling  to  Heaven  with  a  prayer  for  his  son. 

Save,  for  the  sake  of  the  cause  that's  enroll'd  us  ; 

Spare,  for  the  sake  of  the  truth  that  is  told  us  ; 

Tho'  justice  gleams  bright,  in  a  world  tempest- 
driven, 

'Tis  o'ertopped  by  sweet  mercy  in  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven. 

Oh  !    rare    words  of    pardon   the   south   wind  is 

bearing : 

"  Tell  the  men  that  return  the  old  flag  shall  pro- 
tect them." 

By  the  future  that  beckons,  this  jubilee  sharing, 
Grant    pardon    to    men   whose    weakness  hath 

wreck'd  them. 

No  blood  of  the  foe  stains  the  flag  that  vrc 
cherish  ; 


176  "MOVE     ON,     MEN? 

'Mid  the  harvests  of  death  which  have  darkened 

the  air, 
We  must  press  back  the  tears,  when  our  brave 

heroes  perish, 
But  spare  us,  O  God  !  what  mercy  can  spare  ! 

Save  for  the  sake  of  the  mothers  who  bore  them  ; 
Spare,  for  the   sake  of  the   flag   that   floats   o'er 

them ; 

A  merciful  deed  is  a  God-like  hosana, 
Which    leaveth    no   stain   on   the   Star-Spangled 

Banner. 


"MOVE    ON,    MEN." 

"Much  obliged  to  you  !  Move  on,  Men,"  was  General 
Burnside's  answer,  on  the  reception  of  the  flag  presented 
to  him  at  an  early  period  of  the  war. 


on,  men,  and  the  men  moved  on 
To  the  good  old  song  our  fathers  sung  — 
Move  on,  men,  and  the  men  moved  on 

'Neath  the  good  old  flag  our  fathers  flung  ; 
'Mid  the  million  hopes,  and  the  million  fears, 
A  nation's  prayers,  and  a  nation's  cheers. 

Move  on,  men,  and  the  men  moved  on, 
Moved  on  with  their  banners  gay  ; 


"  MO  VE     ON,     MEN?  1 7  7 

Through  Columbia's  darkest  day. 
Move  on,  men,  and  the  men  move  1  on, 
Step  so  firm  and  heart  so  brave  ; 
Moved  on,  o'er  the  watery  wave, 
Moved  on,  'mid  the  dismal  roar 
Of  the  mighty  winds,  from  shore  to  shore  ; 
Moved  on,  moved  on,  tempest  tost, 
With  rudders  broke,  and  anchors  lost — 
Braved  the  tempest,  stemmed  the  tide, 
For  the  good  old  ship,  the  nation's  pride, 
In  which  our  fathers  fought  and  died, 
Where  God's  voice  in  thunder  spoke, 
Whilst  the  waves  tumultuous  broke, 
Burnside  moved  to  Roanoke. 

When  an  hundred  years  are  o'er  ; 
When  other  hearts,  shall  read  the  lore 
That's  written  on  Columbia's  shore  ; 
When  old  Time's  assuaging  hand 
Hath  wreathed  it's  ivy  o'er  the  land, 
Then  the  poet's  soul  shall  flow, 
Then,  the  patriot's  heart  shall  glow, 
Then,  romance,  with  magic  spell 
To  the  listening  world  shall  tell 
How  the  winds  and  waves  awoke 
Mingling,  witji  the  fiery  smoke  ; 
Cannon's  roar,  and  sabre  stroke, 
When  Burnside  moved  to  Roanoke. 
12 


178  THE    REBEL     BALL. 


THE  REBEL    BALL. 

TTA !  ha  !  ha  !    Stand  from  under  ! 

The  great  balloon,  the  mighty  wonder 
That's  crazed  the  world  with  flash  and  thunder, 

Is  coming  down  ; 
Turn  out,  turn  out,  ye  people  all, 
Three  cheers,  for  the  rebel  ball, 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  see  it  fall, 

Three  cheers  from  every  town  ; 
O  mighty  theme,  of  the  poet's  lay, 
Like  many  another,  thou  hast  had  thy  day  ; 
Laugh,  sing,  be  merry  and  gay, 
No  more  sorrow,  no  more  pain, 
The  bubble's  burst — I  breathe  again. 

O,  Jefferson  D.  ! 

Had  you  come  to  me, 
I'd  have  told  you  just  how  it  would  be, 
That  our  hopes  are  like  the  withering  grass, 
That  lead  is  more  efficient  than  brass ; 
While  a  very  volatile  fluid  is  gas, 

Alas  !  alas ! 
I'd  have  told  you  all  that  has  come  to  pass ! 

O,  Jefferson  D. ! 
Had  you  come  to  me, 
I'd  have  told  you  that  which  you  did  not  see  ; 


A     TRIBUTE.  179 

That  there  is  no  balloon,  however  high 
It  may  float  or  soar  in  Columbia's  sky, 
But  the  American  Eagle  will  far  outfly. 

Jefferson  D.,  they  are  dangerous  things 
To  mortals  who've  not  grown  their  wings. 
Many  and  many  a  one  I've  seen 
Go  up,  in  a  sky  all  serene, 
A  loyal  car,  as  any,  I  ween, 

You'll  chance  to  meet. 
Many  a  one,  where  the  path  was  clear, 
Come  down  in  a  way  exceedingly  queer, 
To  all  who  walk  this  lower  sphere 

Upon  their  feet. 

Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Stand  from  under  ! 
The  great  balloon,  the  mighty  wonder 
That's  crazed  the  world  with  flash  and  thunder, 
Is  coming  down. 


A     TRIBUTE. 

T>  OWING  to  no  earthly  creed, 
•^     Holding  naught  beneath  our  ban, 
Sanctioning  not,  in  thought  or  deed, 
Let  us  all  revere  the  man  ; 


i8o    OUR     UNION   AND    OUR    FLAG. 

For  the  gloom,  and.  for  the  glory, 
Told  in  tears  and  told  in  pride  ; 

For  the  life-blood  and  the  story, 
How  a  brave  man  lived  and  died. 

O  how  clear  the  voice  is  ringing  ! 

O  how  small  the  thread  you  sever  ! 
Hope,  and  joy,  and  impulse  flinging, 

It  shall  sound,  and  sound  forever. 

O  how  vain  the  hope  to  darken 
Stars  that  point  the  rising  day  ; 

Fling  the  song,  and  men  shall  hearken, 
Tho'  the  lyre  be  swept  away. 

Brave  old  man  !  there's  somewhat  in  thee 
Shames  the  souls  of  meaner  men  ; 

Man  may  crush,  but  time  shall  win  thee 
From  the  grave  to  earth  again. 


OUR    UNION    AND    OUR    FLAG. 

Y  flag  !  when  first  those  starry  folds 
Which  waved  o'er  Sumter's  band, 
Received  the  traitors'  murderous  fire, 

How  flashed  the  tumult  through  the  land. 
No  soul  e'er  panted  for  the  hour 

That  lifts  it  from  love's  torturing  rack, 


OUR    UNION   AND    OUR    FLAG.    181 

As  panted,  then,  a  nation's  heart, 
To  hurl  the  insult  back. 

If  shame  then  hushed  Columbia's  breath, 

And  bowed  her  beauteous  form, 
'Twas  but  the  siroc's  awful  pause — 

The  lull  before  the  storm. 
Then  men  awoke,  soul  spoke  to  soul, 

And  hand  grasped  hand,  for  woe  or  weal ; 
Then  wavering  hearts  were  turned  to  iron, 

And  nerves  were  turned  to  steel. 

Old  feuds  were  not,  old  parties  died, 

From  vale  to  mountain  crag  ; 
A  nation's  shout  linked  friend  and  foe, 

Our  Union,  and  our  flag  ; 
We  gave  our  men  as  freely  then, 

As  leaves  from  forest  tree, 
"We  gave  our  gold,  as  rivers  give 

Their  waters  to  the  sea. 

Still  floats  on  high  Columbia's  flag, 
.  In  the  gloom  of  the  autumn  day, 
The  blot  still  on  her  starry  folds, 

The  stain  not  washed  away  ; 
Fort  Moultrie  stands,  and  Charleston  lives, 

And  freedom's  sun  grows  pale, 


1 82       TO     THE     TENTH    LEGION. 

Oh  !  God,  whate'er  thy  children's  doom. 
Let  not  her  foes  prevail. 

We  point  to  Ellsworth's  honored  tomb, 

To  Lyon's  fall,  to  Baker's  grave, 
What  say  Missouri's  vine-clad  hills  ? 

What  answer  from  Potomac's  wave? 
What  answer  they  ?     Men  ask  of  men, 

Who  never  yet  foreswore  the  vow, 
What  answer  they  ?  the  nation  asks, 

With  lowering  heart  and  brow. 

Men,  whom  Columbia's  voice  hath  call'd 

To  guide  this  ship  of  state, 
Remember  well  each  soul  on  board 

Owns  portion  in  her  freight ; 
More  clean  was  Nero's  reeking  brow, 

More  guiltless  Arnold's  past, 
Than  the  hand  that  falters  at  the  helm, 

Or  shrinks  before  the  blast. 


TO  THE  TENTH  LEGION, 

WHICH    PASSED    DOWN    BROADWAY    SINGING    THE   REFRAIN 
' '  FOR  GOD  AND  OUR  COUNTRY  WE  ARE  MARCHING  ALONG." 

1%/T ARCHING  along  ! — marching  to  the  war— 

I  saw  them  as  they  passed,  a  thousand  men 
or  more. 


TO     THE     TENTH    LEGION.       183 

Their  bayonets  were  gleaming  in  the  sun's  burning 

light. 
For  God  and  their  country,  they  were  marching  to 

the  fight, 

Marching  along,  marching  along, 
"For  God  and  our  country,  we  are  marching  along." 

I  could  not  see  their  banners,  for  my  eyes  grew  dim, 
I  but  thought  of  my  country,  and  sublime  grew 

their  hymn, 

Till  my  soul  echoed  back,  oh  !  again  and  again 
The  song  of  the  battle  !  the  soldiers'  refrain  : 

Marching  along,  marching  along, 
"  For  God,  and  our  country,  we  are  marching  along." 

I   have  bowed  to  the  song,  when   love  was   the 

theme, 
I  have  listened  to  the  chime,  when  fame  was  the 

dream, 

Not  the  psalmodies  of  life,  nor  the  cadences  of  art, 
Were  so  grand  to  my  ear,  or  so  dear  to  my  heart. 

Marching  along,  marching  along, 
"For  God,  and  our  country,  we  are  marching  along." 

Loud  blew  the  bugle — God  keep  them  where  they 

roam, 
For  the  hearts  that  are  waiting — for  the  firesides 

at  home, 


1 84  THE    BATTLE. 

Loud  blew  the  bugle,  and  they  answered  in  their 

might, 
For  God  and  our  country,  we  are  marching  to  the 

fight. 

Marching  along,  marching  along, 
"  For  God,  and  our  country,  we  are  marching  along." 

Marching  along — marching  along — 
Brave  were  their  hearts,  and  brave  was  their  song, 
O,  I  know  there  are  leaves  on  the  old  bay  tree, 
That  are  growing  for  their  brows,  in  the  land  of 

the  free. 

Marching  along,  marching  along, 
"  For  God,  and  their  country,  they  were  marching 

along." 


THE    BATTLE. 

ni^HE  battle  was  over,  we  had  won  it,  they  said  ; 
I  heard  the  brief  tale  of  the  heroes  who  led, 
Of  the  hosts  that  went  in,  of  the  few  that  came  out, 
Of  the  charge  for  the  Union,  the  carnage  and  rout. 
God  pity  the  hearts  that  are  cleft  to  the  core 
For  the  heroes  who  fell  on  Potomac's  blue  shore  ! 

Alone  by  my  casement,  at  the  dead  of  the  night, 
Like  a  blast  from  the  battle  came  news  of  the  fight ; 


THE   BATTLE.  185 

I  heard  not  the  shriek  of  the  death-dooming  gun, 
I  saw  not  the  sabres  that  flashed  in  the  sun  ; 
~No  tumult  of  glory  lit  up  the  dark  plain, 
Whose  furrows  ran  red  with  the  blood  of  the  slain. 

O,  deaf  was  my  ear  to  the  whoop  and  the  roar, 
And  blind  was  my  eye  to  the  trappings  of  war  ; 
I  saw  not  the  charger,  decked  out  in  his  pride, 
For  the  pale  horse  of  death  that  stalked  by  his  side  ; 

0  pseans  of  joy,  hosanna  and  prayer, 

Ye  were  lost  in  the  dirges  that  burdened  the  air. 

Ay,  naught  but  the  wail  from  mountain  and  strand, 
That  arose  to  the  skies  from  the  heart  of  the  land  ; 
O,  Columbia,  my  country,  proud  land  of  my  birth, 

1  have  need  to  remember  thy  mission  on  earth  ; 
I  have  need  to  remember,  heart-weary  and  torn, 
The  flag  that  our  fathers  unfurl'd  to  the  morn. 

May  the  sheen  of  thy  rifles  die  out  in  the  glade, 
With  brother  'gainst  brother  no  longer  arrayed  ; 
May  the  swords  of  the  children  be  sheathed  to  the 

hilt 
On  the  plain  where  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  was 

spilt ; 
May  the  Star-Spangled  Banner,  bright  gleaming 

of  heaven, 
Float  over  the  hearts  that  no  longer  are  riven. 


1 86     SOLDIER    TO    THE    CIVILIAN. 

Thou  art  travailing  to-day,  in  anguish  and  woe, 
The  breast  that  should  shield  is  the  breast  of  thy 

foe  ; 
While  I  gaze  on  thy  hills,  where  naught  should  be 

seen 

But  the  low  waving  lines  of  thy  emerald  green, 
I  have  need  to  remember,  all  memories  above, 
That  the  God  whom  we  worship  chastiseth  in  love. 


THE    SOLDIER    TO    THE    CIVILIAN. 

OME,  all  who  are  dhraming  that  war  is  but  play; 
Come,  all  who  are  blaming  the  soldier  to-day, 
Shoulder  your  gun, 
And  join  in  the  fun, 
Take  part  in  the  battle  and  mix  in  the  fray. 

Come,  all  who  are  spaking  of  city  and  port, 
Come  join  in  the  taking,  and  witness  the  sport. 
O,  come  for  a  spell, 
'Mid  the  shot  and  the  shell, 
And  see  what  it  is  to  be  sazing  a  fort. 

Come,  all  who  are  throubling  the  world  with  their 

views. 
Come,  all  who  are  doubling  their  gold  and  their 

dues — 


READING     THE    BULLETIN.      187 

Tender  your  life, 
To  the  drum  and  the  fife ; 
Hang  up  your  sermon,  and  throw  up  your  muse. 

Come,  all  who'd  be  steering  this  throublesome  ark, 
You'll  find  it  quite  cheering,  a  trip  in  our  bark, 

Down  with  the  bars, 

Up  with  the  Stars, 
Is  the  song  of  the  boys,  come  join  the  lark. 

While  the  soldier  is  fighting,  his  flag  to  defend, 
May  you  all  be  uniting,  your  forces  to  blend, 

Whatever  our  day  ; 

Be  it  sombre  or  gay, 
May  we  find  in  each  other,  a  prop  and  a  friend. 


READING    THE   BULLETIN. 

TTURRAH  for  the   crowd  !    knee-deep   in  the 

snow, 

Shoulder  to  shoulder,  friend  and  foe, 
Rich  and,  poor,  high  and  low, 
Long  and  short,  lean  and  stout, 
Hats  with  a  brim,  hats  without, 
Some  who  believe,  many  who  doubt, 
Reading  the  bulletin. 


i88     READING     THE    BULLETIN. 

Hurrah  for  the  noses  !  white  and  red, 
Noses  that  lead,  more  that  are  led, 
Spectacled  noses  high  in  the  air, 
Wonderful  noses,  that  never  despair, 
Various  noses,  common  and  rare, 
Noses  that  live  nobody  knows  where, 
Surrounding  the  nose  of  the  millionaire, 
Reading  the  bulletin. 

Cravats  that  are  black,  a  few  that  are  white, 
Preachers  of  peace,  teachers  of  light, 
Encircled  by  arms,  in  for  the  fight, 
Some  that  are  straight,  a  few  that  are  tight, 
Reading  the  bulletin. 

Hearts  that  are  jolly,  hearts  that  are  not, 
Heads  that  are  cool,  a  few  that  are  hot, 
More  than  one  that  will  never  be  shot, 
Reading  the  bulletin. 

Men,  men  who  are  blocking  the  way, 
What  doth  the  bustling  bulletin  say  ? 
Men,  men,  see  you  a  ray 
To  lighten  the  path  of  a  desolate  day  ? 
Men,  men  who  are  blocking  the  way, 
What  doth  the  wonderful  bulletin  say  ? 

"  Only  a  battle — a  victory  won, 
Nobly,  bravely,  gallantly  done." 


THE    FALL     OF    BEAUFORT.      189 

Shout  the  news,  thro'  the  busy  town, 
"  Stocks  are  up,  and  gold  is  down." 
Shout  the  news  to  the  brazen  sun, 
A  battle  is  fought  a  victory  won. 

I  passed  along  'mid  the  gathering  throng, 
With  an  inmost  hope,  and  a  fervent  song, 
With  an  inmost  hope,  and  a  fervent  prayer, 
That  every  cheer  that  rent  the  air, 
Sent  to  the  sun  from  the  crazy  mart, 
Was  a  patriots  cheer,  from  a  patriot's  heart. 

For  there's  another  bulletin,  that  shall  abide 
When  nations  no  more  to  battle  ride — 
When   the   heart   beats  not,  nor   the   pulse   con- 
trolled 

By  the  rise  in  stocks,  or  the  fall  of  gold — 
Another  bulletin  written  to-day, 
Whose  Promethean  lines  shall  not  decay 
When  the  records  of  time  have  passed  away  ; 
O  Searcher  of  Hearts,  pure  fountain  of  love, 
How  readeth  thy  bulletin  in  the  Kingdom  above? 


THE  FALL  OF  BEAUFORT. 

TTUZZA,  the  Star-Spangled   Banner  is  waving 
again, 


ipo      THE    FALL     OF    BEAUFORT. 

Where  the  black  flag  of  treason  encumbered  the 

plain, 

O,  send  ye  a  paean  across  the  blue  main, 
For  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  is  waving  again. 

Ah  !  fair  was  the  day,  none  fairer,  I  trow, 
Ever  smiled  on  the  brave,  or  dawned  on  the  foe  ; 
When  rounding  the  Bay,  each  death-dealing  barge 
Rode  gallantly  in,  and  advanced  to  the  charge. 

Then   fell   the   red   shot,  like   the   rain  that  was 

poured 

On  Gomorah  of  old,  of  God  the  abhorred  ; 
Then    a   war-cry,   for   freedom,    swept   over    the 

wave, 
Death,  death  to  the  traitor !  to  treason  a  grave. 

One  round,  my  brave  boys,  o'er  the  blue  shining 

Bay, 

For  the  flag,  that  is  waving  at  mast-head  to-day  ; 
For  the  patriot's  heart,  that  still  lovingly  turns, 
Where  the  star  of  our  country  exultingly  burns. 

One  round,  and  their  guns  are  awaiting  reply, 
'Neath  the  shade  of  their  forts  they  triumphantly 

lie  ; 

No  sound  breaks  the  silence,  of  sea,  and  of  sky, 
Where  the  steel-throated  guns  are  awaiting  reply. 


LAMENT    FROM    MISSOURI.      191 

No  response  from  the  foe  ;  they  are  nearing  the 

shore, 

Past  bulwark  and  mound  their  numbers  they  pour  ; 
No  guard  to  dispute  the  soil  where  they  tread, 
No  face  bars  their  path,  but  the  face  of  the  dead. 


A  LAMENT  FROM  MISSOURI.-GEK  LYOK 

HHHE  wind  that  sweeps  the  battle-grounds 

Sweeps  o'er  thy  lowly  bed  ; 
The  trumpet's  warning  note  still  sounds — 

But  thou  art  dead  ! 
To  arms,  to  arms !  the  drums  still  beat, 

But  where  art  thou  who  led  ? 
Far  on  the  hills,  the  tramp  of  feet, 

A  heavy  tread  ! 
And  the  foemen's  swords  in  the  valley  meet, 

Though  thou  art  dead  ! 

Beneath  Missouri's  darkened  sky 

Where  the  tide  of  war  runs  red  ! 
We  breathe  thy  name  with  many  a  sigh — 

The  early  dead ! 
O  !  when  the  rage  of  battle's  o'er, 

And  the  last  tear-drop  .shed, 


i92        YANKEEDOM    AND     DIXIE. 

When  the  gun  lies  listless  by  the  door 
Where  heroes  bled ! 

With  victory's  cry  our  tears  we'll  pour, 
That  thou  art  dead  ! 

They  have  lain  thee  in  thy  native  glade, 

With  a  wreath  upon  thy  head  ; 
Whose  shining  leaf  shall  never  fade — 

The  honored  dead ! 
While  hero  deeds  the  soul  shall  thrill, 

Or  to  the  foe  bring  dread  ; 
While  of  yon  flag  upon  the  hill 

There  floats  one  thread  ! 
Thy  name  shall  be  a  watch-word  still — 
The  glorious  dead! 


YANKEEDOM  AND  DIXIE. 
TWEEDLE-DUM    AND    TWEEDLE-DEE, 

"YT'ANKEE  Doodle  is  heard  no  more — 

Down  in  Dixie  ; 
Loyal  hearts  are  sick  and  sore — 

Down  in  Dixie  ; 
E  Pluribus  Unum  has  gone  ashore — 

Down  in  Dixie  ; 
Facts  for  which  our  fathers  fought, 


YANKEEDOM    AND    DIXIE.       193 

Lived  and  died,  go  for  naught, 
Down  in  Dixie. 

Many  there  are,  who  sigh  and  groan — 

Down  in  Yankeedom ; 
Construing  things  in  a  way  of  their  own — 

Down  in  Yankeedom; 
Things  'twere  best  to  let  alone — 

Down  in  Yankeedom  ; 
Facts  for  which  are  fathers  fought, 
Lived  and  died,  go  for  naught 

Down  in  Yankeedom. 

The  Constitution  is  under  the  rose — 

Down  in  Dixie ; 
Few  its  friends,  and  many  its  foes — 

Down  in  Dixie  ; 
The  good  old  times  have  come  to  a  close — 

Down  in  Dixie ; 

Truths,  for  which  are  fathers  fought, 
Lived  and  died,  go  for  naught 

Down  in  Dixie. 

The  Constitution  is  twisted  and  torn — 

Down  in  Yankeedom ; 
Held  up,  to  a  nation's  scorn — 

Down  in  Yankeedom ; 
13 


i94         VISIT     TO     WASHINGTON. 

'Till  some  of  us  wish  we  had  never  been  born- 
Down  in  Yankeedom  ; 

What  is  the  difference,  who  can  see, 

'Twixt  tweedle-dum,  and  tweedle-dee  ? 


"I  HAVE  BEEN  TO  WASHINGTON." 

T  HAVE  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  famous 

sights, 
The  President,  the  Cabinet,  the  people,  and  the 

fun  ; 

The  forts  and  the  batteries,  the  hills  and  the  heights, 
The  general,  and  the  colonels,  and  the  soldiers 

every  one  ; 

The  roll,  and  the  reveille,  the  flourish  and  the  trill, 
I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  famous  drill. 
"Attention  company" — "Turn  out  your  toes." 
Roll  goes  the  drum,  and  loud  the  bugle  blows. 
"Shoulder  arms"— "Right  shoulder  shift"— 
Flash  go  the  bayonets,  merrily  and  swift. 
"  Ram  down  cartridge  " — "Prime  " — "  Charge  '. " 
"  Fire  !  "  says  the  captain,  feeling  very  large. 
Up  speaks  the  colonel,  tone  rather  harsh: 
"  Right  flank,"  "  Left  flank  !  "  "  Forward  !  "— 
"March!" 


VISIT     TO     WASHINGTON.        195 

O !  the  wisdom  and  the  strategy,  the  science,  and 

the  skill  ! 
I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  famous  drill. 

I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  splendid 

show, 
Red  coats,  green  coats,  blue  coats,  and  gray  ; 

Cockade  and  epaulettes — Zouaves  all  the  go  ; 
Dragoons  and  chasseurs,  rollicking  and  gay  ; 

Volunteers  and  regulars,  the  loyal  and  the  true  ; 

I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  great  review: 
"  Attention  company  !  " — columns  in  repose — 
Roll  goes  the  drum,  and  loud  the  bugle  blows. 
"  Present  sabres  ! " — flashing  down  the  line — 
Thousands  of  sabres,  looking  very  line. 
"Flank  files  forward  ! "  "Platoons  wheel  ! " 
Merrily  go  the  horses,  dancing  in  a  reel, 
Cavalry  handsome,  cutting  quite  a  dash, 
Flying  artillery,  riding  very  rash. 

0  !  the  piping  and  the  fifing,  for  the  red,  white  and 

blue  ! 

1  have  been  to  Washington  to  see  the  great  review. 

I  have  .been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  honored  pile 
Where  freedom  sang  her  anthem,  eighty  years  ago, 

Born  at  her  altar,  reared  in  her  aisle, 

We  will  strike  for  her  banner,  tho'  the  world  be 
the  foe  : 


196  THE     VOLUNTEER. 

Where  the  strength  and  the  sinew  of  a  brave  land 

pour, 
I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  pomp  of 

war. 
Above  the  clamor  of  her  friends,  and  the  malice 

of  her  foes, 

Roll,  goes  the  drum,  and  loud  the  bugle  blows, 
Ambassadors  with  badges,  feeling  very  grand, 
Senators  and  Warriorsj  marching  hand  in  hand  ; 
Levees  at  the  White  House,  women,  very  fair, 
Gentlemen  with  small  swords,  very  militaire  ; 
Fogy  on  the  sidewalk,  looking  very  glum 
At  the  rattle  of  the  battle,  and  the  beating  of 

the  drum. 
Hearts  very  jubilant,  hearts  very  sore, 

I  have  been  to  Washington,  to  see  the  pomp  of 

war. 


THE    VOLUNTEER. 

To  the  memory  of  William  H.  Doak,  First  Sergeant 
Company  F,  84th  Regiment,  New  York,  who,  vol- 
unteering his  services  in  a  midnight  expedition,  was 
drowned  in  the  Potomac  River,  on  the  night  of  the  23rd 
of  August,  1864.  An  attempt  at  persuasion  from  -joining 
this  expedition,  was  met  with  the  reply,  "  That  he  had 
but  sixty  days  to  serve,  and  would  do  his  duty." 

^  £  T  HAVE  but  sixty  days  to  serve, 
Now,  by  the  sacred  past, 


THE     VOL  UNTEER.  1 9  7 

What  wind  may  blow,  come  weal  or  woe, 
I'm  with  you  to  the  last." 

Ah !  God,  it  was  a  night  to  fear, 

On  old  Potomac's  side  ! 
Black  as  despair,  had  settled  there, 

With  midnight  on  the  tide. 

Ah  !  God,  it  was  a  night  to  shun, 

That  old  war-stricken  rout ; 
And  as  their  ranks  swept  o'er  its  banks 

A  manly  voice  spake  out. 

Courage,  brave  hearts,  the  patriot's  hope 

Shall  light  the  patriot's  way, 
Thro'  flood  and  field,  his  star  shall  yield 

A  sure  and  trusty  ray. 

Alas  !  alas  !  the  morning  sun 

Hath  lit  the  southern  wave ; 
And  all  ablaze,  its  bannered  rays 

Stream  o'er  the  patriot's  grave. 

"I  have  but  sixty  days  to  serve, 

I'll  do  my  duty,  men." 
O  Time,  be  not  this  soul  forgot 

By  thy  recording  pen. 


198  BOBADirS    DREAM. 


BOBADIL'S  DREAM.* 

welkin  rang  with  a  joyful  shout, 
The  stars  went  out  with  a  reel  and  a  rout, 
Lupis  the  Wolf,  the  Dog  and  the  Crow, 
Left  in  a  huff,  in  the  ship  Argo — 

With  Pegasus'  flying  horses. 
Far  as  the  Southern  eye  could  descry, 
Nothing  was  seen  in  the  Southern  sky 
But  royal  crowns  and  crosses. 

Like  the  fairy  tale  of  the  wonderful  gourds, 
Sprang  lordly  towns,  and  cities  and  wards, 
With  lordly  houses,  and  a  House  of  Lords, 

With  lordly  regulations. 
With  royal  stables  and  royal  studs, 
And  royal  titles,  and  royal  bloods — 

With  royal  expectations. 

Adonis'  lips  could  never  frame 

The  beautiful  things  that  went  and  came — 

Coleur  de  rose,  creme  de  la  creme, 

*  If  we  fail,  with  all  our  conservative  elements  to  save 
us,  then  there  will  be  no  hope  of  a  republic  on  this  conti- 
nent, and  the  public  mind  will  turn  to  the  more  fixed 
forms  of  the  Old  World. 

Gov.  PICKENS'  (S.  C.)  message. 


BOBADirS    DREAM.  199 

(Heaven  save  the  mark !) 

Quite  past  republican  rubicans. 
I  but  dimly  see,  like  one  in  the  dark, 
Royal  jewels,  that  cost  a  sum 
That  would  strike  old  Fortunatus  dumb. 
Royal  satins,  laces  and  plumes  ; 
Royal  shades,  and  royal  blooms  ; 
Royal  maidens  in  royal  courts  ; 
Royal  lovers,  and  royal  sports  ; 
Royal  kisses,  with  a  royal  ease 
That  well  might  Cupid's  marrow  freeze. 
But  I  ken  no  more  ;  for  you  must  agree 
That  'twould  take  a  born  Palmetto  to  see — 
On  the  royal  lens  of  an  F.  F.  Y. — 

Such  royal  highfalutins. 

O,  sing  ye  a  song — a  royal  song — 

With  a  flourish  of  trumpets  loud  and  long. 

Sing  ye  a  song  !  of  all  on  earth, 

The  most  rollicking,  roystering  song  of  mirth  ; 

For  Johnny  Bull,  a  man  of  birth, 

Has  hung  up  his  hat  at  Jonathan's  hearth. 

There's  a  magic  in  Hermann's  famous  trick  ; 

There,  was  music  in  Russell's  "  double  quick," 

When  Manassas'  balls  fell  fast  and  thick  ; 

But  Bobadil's  dream  is  a  royal  brick, 

That  scorns  the  skill  of  necromance, 

Or  the  seven-leagued  boots  of  gay  romance-; 


200  BOB  ADI VS    DREAM. 

Not  Croesus'  purse,  backed  by  King  Saturn, 
Could  ever  import  such  a  royal  pattern. 

When  the  King  of  Terrors — the  king  of  all 
Who  reign  in  the  palace,  or  serve  in  the  hail- 
When  he  comes  to  them,  with  his  royal  pall, 
May  they  be  ready  to  meet  his  call, 

Like  royal  heirs  and  dauphins  ; 
May  they  lay  their  heads  on  royal  beds  ; 
May  they  yield  their  breath  in  a  royal  death, 

And  be  buried  in  royal  coffins. 


THE  END. 


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